


True Love's Kiss

by theonsfavouritetoy



Series: Disneyfied [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cracky, Euron is as bad as always, Euron is his own warning, Humour, I might add, Jealousy issues everywhere, Jon really kisses a lot of people, M/M, POV Jon Snow, POV Theon Greyjoy, Robb Stark is a Gift, Tangled AU - kind of, Theon isn't amused, Theon vs Ramsay only Theon wins this time, additional tags and characters to be added, because Flynn Rider is basically book!Theon before Ramsay happened, fairytale, kissing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: “...worth more than gold, more than jewels,” Euron drawls, and Theon’s heart beats faster as he tries to imagine such riches. “You know I built that tower specifically to hide my precious darling.”...So there’s a tower... somewhere. Not far, judging from Euron’s words. And in the tower… Theon quickens his steps, slinking out of the tavern into the warm night. A treasure, unguarded, just there and waiting for him. Worth more than gold… That should be enough to settle the misunderstanding with the Boltons.Finally, Theon thinks, grinning to himself, finally a stroke of luck.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Series: Disneyfied [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114136
Comments: 211
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imacreepygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imacreepygirl/gifts).



> Hello lovely people, and welcome in 2020 - the year of Greysnow :p
> 
> This fic is a gift for the lovely @imacreepygirl - you're an absolute darling, your comments always brighten my day and I wanted to say thank you. Remember when I asked for smut on the Pub AU? You mentioned you'd like to see a fairytale AU sometime - and here it is. Sadly, it's not very smutty. Well there's some UST. And loads of kissing. I very much hope you like it :)
> 
> Special thanks go once again (seriously, woman, what'd I do without you) to @half_life, for all your time spent cheering on this fic (and all the others), for your betaing and generally for existing, really. ;-*
> 
> Tagged underage because Jon is not yet sixteen, in those times a man grown. Almost. There isn't a lot happening, but to be on the safe side...

_Prologue_

_A long time ago the Lord of the North, whom people called the Wolf, went to war, leaving behind his newlywed bride. When he was gone, the lady realized that she was with child, and she was very happy to give her husband an heir. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, she grew restless and sad. Her body ached, her soul pined, and she was terrified for her babe. There was nothing to lift her spirits, nothing to satisfy the strange longing she felt, nothing to soothe the creeping pain. That was, until she heard of a mysterious plant that only grew far away, across the narrow sea._

_The plant was rumoured to cure all ailments of the body and the soul, and the more the lady heard about it, the more she was filled with an unbearable need. But how should she get this plant? All the good men were at war, no raven could fly so far, no ship could bring it to her in time. It was then that an old merchant came to the North, and told the lady he’d seen a ship at the harbour, and on that ship was a captain who had sailed the seas for all his life. And he had the plant with him._

_The lady was overjoyed. She immediately summoned the captain to her home and so he came, the plant in his hands. A young man he was, handsome and fearless, bold and untamed. He bowed to the lady and grinned. He’d heard of her need from a sorceress, far across the sea, and had come to relieve her pain. But when the lady was about to thank him he shook his head and laughed. The plant came at a price._

_When the lady heard what it was that he wanted she recoiled in horror. She would have given him anything: gold, jewels, her husband’s lands. But what he wanted was the one thing she couldn’t bear to give. Her babe._

_He sighed theatrically when she refused him, bowing once more, and was about to take his leave when a searing pain shot through the lady’s body and she fell to the floor, crying out in agony. The plant, she whispered, she needed the plant or her babe would die inside her womb._

_The captain knelt beside her. Promise, he said, promise I shall have the babe when it is born. He didn’t tell her why he wanted it, didn’t tell her of the prophecy he once heard, that one day the young wolf will come to slay him. He didn’t tell her, and she didn’t ask. She promised, tears flowing from her eyes. It was better the babe lived, away from her, and not perish before even seeing the light of the world. The captain laughed in triumph and gave her the plant, vowing he would be back when the babe was born to take what was his. When he was gone the maester made tea from the plant and the lady drank, and soon she was merry and healthy again, and forgot about the promise._

_She finally gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, with auburn curls and blue eyes. He was perfect. Everything could have been so wonderful, almost like a fairytale. And then the war was over and her husband came home. She rushed out with their son to greet him at the gate, eagerly taking in his exhausted face she had missed for so long. And then she saw the bundle he held tight in his arms, and she grew still as he got off his horse and came to her, carrying a strange babe. He told her it was his, a mistake he had made at the beginning of war._

_Fiery hatred broke out in the lady as she stared at the sleeping child in her husband’s arm. He’d broken his promise to her. He’d been with another woman. And this was the result of his betrayal. A small boy, dark fuzz covering his head, sleepy brown eyes opening and closing. It looked just like him, this bastard, while his real son,_ their _son, looked so much like her. She turned away from them, refusing to speak. But in the end she had to forgive him. He was her husband, and her lord. He was kind, and she couldn’t hate him for long. But she could hate the child._

_And she did._

_She wouldn’t tolerate it near her or her son; couldn’t bear to look at it. The months passed and her son grew up healthy and well, and she loved him with all her heart. So it came as a shock when she received a raven from the captain. He had finally come back with his ship, and was going to collect what she owed him. The lady fell into despair. She couldn’t part with her child, she couldn’t! She thought about nothing else, cradling her son close to her heart as she cried bitter tears. And then fate gave her an opportunity._

_Her husband went away for a while, leaving the bastard babe behind. And the lady devised a plan. When the captain came in the dark of the night she met him outside the castle walls, the boy tightly wrapped in a wolf’s pelt. The captain reached for him greedily, looking down into the tiny face in triumph. He could see that this was the child he had to take. It looked just like the Wolf. It was right. The lady watched man and babe melt into the darkness, her heart singing with joy. When her husband returned, she told him the babe had died. He mistook her tears of joy for grief, and believed her._

_But the babe lived, and the captain took it on his ship and sailed along the coast until he came to the Riverlands where he had built a tower without a door, to contain the boy from the world and raise him as his own to stop the prophecy from being ever fulfilled._

***

Chapter One

The tavern is sketchy, to put it mildly. The door to it is hidden under a curtain of ivy, and there are no visible windows. Upon Theon’s entrance, silence immediately settles over the room. He lingers in the doorway, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim interior, lit only by a few candles and torches. It stinks, of wet dog and unwashed bodies and alcohol and greasy food, but the smell is the least of Theon’s concerns. He won’t die from bad odours, but if one of them should recognize him… Not that the reward on his head is that big. Hardly worth the trouble of fighting him. But he’s heard the Boltons have offered their own reward for him. And that one will be massive. 

After a few moments of glaring heavily at him, the dubious figures turn back to their drink and take up the low chatter that had been buzzing in the room before. Theon sighs, more than a little relieved. He likes his skin as it is. Not that he wouldn’t deserve a little reproach, a few slaps on the wrist maybe, but he thinks the Boltons are a tad touchy when it comes to their riches. Theon hadn’t even taken everything! Only about a third, the part he should have been given anyway after the successful coup they managed together. But Roose, stingy as fuck, thought he could fob Theon off with a few trinkets. It’s his fault that Theon took more, really. But it’s Theon’s fault – and that fucking squirrel’s – that everything lies on the bottom of that deep gorge. 

Theon sighs, still not over the loss. All that lovely gold… Not that it would have done him any good. He would’ve had to give it back anyway to keep all his limbs intact. Now that he can’t… Theon shudders at the thought of Roose’s brute of a son, always playing with his stupid knife and making lewd jokes at Theon’s expense. He’ll have to find a way to compensate them. But – and this is the real problem – where the fuck can he find that much gold? Heaving another desolate sigh, Theon saunters over to the bar, leaning against it. The barkeep looks like he could snap Theon’s neck like a twig with his huge hands, and his face is a horrible maze of burn scars. 

“Jug of ale, please,” Theon says, trying for a charming smile. 

The man grunts. “Got any gold?”

Theon fishes a coin out of his pocket. Not a gold one, a silver stag, but it should be enough to buy him a couple drinks in this filthy hellhole. Apparently he’s right; the barkeep huffs and starts filling a huge tankard to the brim. Theon studies the sign hanging above his head curiously. It only says one word: chicken. 

“Want some?” the barkeep grunts, nodding at the sign. “Costs extra.” 

“No, thank you,” Theon says, repressing the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust. He’s not even hungry. That bloody squirrel that startled him so badly he fell off his horse and lost the gold made for a halfway decent snack. Got what it deserved. And even if he were hungry, he sure as fuck wouldn’t eat here. 

He reaches for his ale, carefully taking a sip.

“Lemon cakes?” asks the barkeep gruffly, and Theon looks up at him in bewilderment. 

“I’m sorry...what?”

“Are you deaf, you fucking cunt? Lemon cakes! Made a fresh batch a couple hours ago.” The man leans over the bar, glowering at Theon threateningly. “You surely wanna try my lemon cakes, right?”

“Er...sure,” Theon says, relieved when the man pulls back with a grimace somewhat resembling a smile. Reluctantly Theon hands over another silver coin. It’s one of his last ones, and he really hopes the bloody lemon cakes are worth it. And, to his everlasting surprise, they actually are. “Wow!” he exclaims, staring at the gruff barkeep in wonder. “These are amazing!”

“Fucking right.” The man smiles for real this time, looking no less horrible for it, but still somehow nice. “I once knew a little girl who liked them a lot.”

Theon just wants to reply when a sudden gust from the door makes the lights in the room flicker, but before he can turn around an all too familiar voice booms behind him. 

“What a fucking lot of sorry figures. Sandor, my man!”

Theon stiffens in horror, fumbling for the hood of his cloak and draping it over his head, turning away from the newcomer. The barkeep gives him a dubious glance before turning to greet the man who has just entered the tavern as if they were old chums. Fucking typical, Theon thinks angrily. No matter where you go in this fucking country, there’s always a bloody Greyjoy underfoot. In this case it’s one of Theon’s uncles, the maddest one, Euron. Theon curses inwardly as Euron settles on a stool an arm’s length away from him. He can’t deal with the guards, the Boltons _and_ his batshit relatives all at once. It’s just too much. 

Thankfully, Euron doesn’t seem interested in him at all, striking up an amiable conversation with the barkeep. Who doesn’t pester _Euron_ with lemon cakes, Theon notes grimly. Not that they weren’t delicious, but… He sighs, holding onto his tankard. He should drink up and leave before Euron recognizes him, but Theon still has to find a place to stay at for the night. He needs his wits about him. So he drinks slowly, listening to his uncle’s tall tales. At one point Theon almost says something, when Euron starts rambling on about mermaids. But then suddenly Theon’s ears catch the word treasure, and he holds his breath so as not to miss a single word. 

“...worth more than gold, more than jewels,” Euron drawls, and Theon’s heart beats faster as he tries to imagine such riches. “You know I built that tower specifically to hide my precious darling.”

Theon nearly snorts. Euron talks about that treasure like a dragon would about his hoard. If dragons could talk. 

“You’ll keep an eye out for me, eh?” Euron says and Theon freezes, fingers clenched around his tankard. Does that mean… “Shouldn’t be gone longer than a fortnight. If there’s any trouble…”

“I’ll let you know,” the barkeep agrees. “Though I don’t get what you’re so worried about. The bloody thing has no door, right?”

It seems they’ve had conversations like this before, and Theon wonders why his uncle would put his trust in a random man in a random tavern. Must be some sort of mutually beneficial agreement. Theon quickly drinks the rest of his ale and gives the barkeep a vague nod before slipping out, careful not to turn Euron’s way. 

So there’s a tower... somewhere. Not far, judging from Euron’s words. And in the tower… Theon quickens his steps, slinking out of the tavern into the warm night. A treasure, unguarded, just there and waiting for him. Worth more than gold… That should be enough to settle the misunderstanding with the Boltons. 

Finally, Theon thinks, grinning to himself, finally a stroke of luck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears! 
> 
> Here's chapter nr.2 - enter our fair princess XD

Of course the tower isn’t that easy to find after all. Theon once more curses the loss of his horse. Poor spooked thing is probably miles away by now. So he goes on foot, following the path from the tavern until he comes to a fork. One path leads to the main road, the one going through all the villages and hamlets, all the way into the capital. Theon hasn’t been to the capital yet, but one day he’s sure he’ll end up there. Lots of rich people, lots of loose pockets, perfect for his long fingers to slide into and relieve the fine city folk of their purses. But somehow Theon is sure Euron wouldn’t build a treasure tower next to the main road, and so he takes the other path, the smaller one that leads into the forest. 

It’s a dark night, near the new moon, and the bloody forest gets denser and denser the further Theon ventures. It’s creepy. Leaves rustling and owls hooting, and although he can’t make anything out in the blackness surrounding him, Theon has the feeling he’s being watched by hungry eyes, following him on his way. He tries to walk faster, but soon the path narrows, the underbrush thickens, until eventually he has to stop and admit the fact that he’s probably taken a wrong turn. That, or the path just randomly ends. Unsure what to do Theon looks around, trying his hardest to make out a clearing in the trees and bushes around him, but it’s no use. 

So he marches on, stumbling over roots and into ditches, nearly twisting his ankle at one point. He’s almost ready to give up the search – can’t lug a mighty treasure around when you break your leg – when suddenly he takes a wrong step. There’s no ground beneath his foot anymore and, with a high-pitched scream Theon would never admit to having made, he feels himself falling. Branches whip in his face, his shoulder knocks against something hard, the world spins and Theon thinks this’ll finally be the end of him when suddenly he stops, coming to lie on his stomach with a dull oomph. 

After a long moment Theon tries to lift his head. Well, at least he hasn’t broken his neck it seems, and after a careful inspection he finds all limbs still attached and more or less intact. His shoulder hurts like fuck, his hands are scratched from where he scrambled for purchase during his fall and when Theon touches his burning cheek his hand comes away wet, probably a scratch from that nasty branch that got him in the face. But all in all it could be worse. At least he’s landed on something soft. Moss maybe. It’s dry and feels nice, and all of a sudden Theon feels so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open. Sod the sodding tower, is the last thing he thinks before he curls himself up under his cloak and falls asleep. 

The sun wakes him pretty early, and Theon sits up with a groan, blearily blinking as he looks around. His eyes pop open wide as he takes in the scenery. Apparently he’s landed on a clearing, on the bank of a little brook. And on the other side of the brook… Theon whoops, getting to his feet so hastily his head spins. He’s found the tower! 

It’s a curious-looking building, square and probably fifty feet high, built from the dark grey stones of the Riverlands. On top there seems to be some sort of gallery, running around all sides as far as Theon can see. He hops over the brook, swaying a little when he lands on the other side, then makes his way to the walls. He circles the building, knocking on some of the stones, but it seems to be true: there’s no door. 

Stepping back, Theon looks up, rubbing his neck. How is he supposed to get in there? Climb? He can’t imagine Euron climbing in and out everytime he wants to look at his treasure. There must be an easier way. Sighing, Theon leans against the stone – and leaps back when it moves inwards under his weight. Heart beating excitedly, Theon bends to inspect the small dent, frowning when there’s nothing further happening. But just when he wants to turn away a subtle glowing catches his eye, and Theon watches as letters appear on the stone. 

“What is dead may never die,” he reads aloud. That’s their family’s favourite phrase. The Greyjoys use it for everything, praying, saying good morning, as a more polite alternative to go and die in a ditch… Theon thinks hard. Does that mean he’s supposed to die to get in there? That seems a bit much of an effort to be honest, even for Euron with his penchant for sorcery and other dubious shit. Maybe he’s supposed to say it to the tower, like some kind of key to get in. Theon tries, but nothing happens. He tries again, with a more dramatic intonation, starting to feel really stupid when again this produces no result. 

“Fuck this shit,” Theon mutters. “What is dead may never die my arse.” His voice takes on a mocking, high-pitched tone. “But rises again harder and stronger, for fuck’s sake!”

And then he yelps, flinching back and landing rudely on his arse when a thick rope sails to the ground right before his nose. Theon looks up. The rope seems to be attached somewhere on the gallery, and with a laugh he leaps to his feet. Not bad, uncle, not bad at all! And with that thought he starts climbing. The rough fibres of the rope burn on his scratched palms, but it seems thick and sturdy. Theon is able to brace his feet against the wall and like that it doesn’t take too long until he’s pulling himself over the edge of the gallery. 

Hopping down from the balustrade, Theon straightens, looking around in slight confusion. It’s an astonishingly comfortable gallery, considering who has built it. But there it is: a wooden bench kind of thing, covered with a thin straw mattress, a thick pelt and various pillows. Theon tries picturing his uncle taking cat naps in the sun, and shakes his head. This is getting stranger and stranger. Next to the recliner is a small, three-legged table, and in the corner next to a wide door stands a big barrel – Theon’s gaze stops at the door. At the _slightly open_ door. Can it really be that easy? First the relatively simple solution to the question how to get up the tower, and now the door isn’t even closed.

Theon scoffs, pushing the door fully open, and steps inside. It is dark, and he doesn’t have time to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light when suddenly a sharp pain explodes in the back of his head, a loud metal noise rings out, and Theon only has time for a last, regretful thought: _fuck_. 

He comes to with a dull throbbing in his head. Theon blinks at a blurred light source, trying to figure out what has happened, when he realises his predicament. His legs are tied together, his hands are tied behind his back, and his torso is tied to a chair. How the fuck did that happen? He struggles, trying to break free, but nothing works and the pounding in his head only worsens, so Theon gives up after a moment. Whoever has done this to him will show their face sooner or later. And then Theon can talk them into setting him free again. 

Unless it’s Euron. In that case he’s dead, or worse. 

“Are you alive?”

It isn’t Euron. The voice is very different, younger for once, and huskier than his uncle's booming bass. Theon squints into the light coming from the window, at a dark figure coming closer, and finally he can see his captor more clearly when he stands in front of him. Theon’s first impulse is to laugh. It’s just a boy. His second impulse is to smile, as charming as he can. It’s a _very pretty_ boy, with soft black curls falling into a surly but undeniably lovely face. Theon tilts his head, ignoring the pain as he lets his gaze wander from full, rosy lips over a cute nose, to a pair of dark brown eyes looking back at him suspiciously. Theon feels his smile widen into a proper leer, one eyebrow clambering up. 

“Hello,” he drawls. “Who might you then be, sweetling?”

The boy’s eyes widen for a tiny moment before his brows gather in confusion. He seems to be scrambling for words.

“I’m Jon,” the boy finally says. “Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my father’s tower?”

_Father??_

Theon’s smile slips a little. That’s… unexpected. Euron never told anyone he has a son, as far as Theon knows. A bastard, most likely, Theon can’t imagine his uncle tying the knot. But that’s no explanation for the secrecy. This Jon lad looks almost a man grown – why would Euron hide him from the family? Not that anything Euron’s ever done has made sense so far, so Theon shakes the thought off, eyes returning to Jon. What a pretty boy… way better-looking than Victarion’s bastards. Theon’s smile returns to full force. Cousins are fair game, really. And it’s not as if he could make bastardly little incest babies with this one anyway, so… 

“My name is Theon,” Theon says, making a little bow as good as he can, tied up like he is. “Your father – Euron, right? – happens to be my uncle. Nice to meet you, cousin.” He writhes in his bonds. “Be a dear and untie me, yes? I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“I’ve heard of you,” Jon says, making no move to do as he’s told. “You’re the no-good one, the thief. Father told me all about you.”

Thanks a lot, uncle, Theon thinks, miffed. But to his surprise Jon blushes, looking even prettier. He looks up at Theon from under his lashes, something like reluctant awe in his gaze. 

“You can’t be as stupid as he said you are, though. You found your way inside.” Jon looks up fully. “No one’s ever made it inside, and many have tried. You must be very clever.”

What, like it’s hard… Theon swallows the words already on his tongue. This pretty little cousin seems to admire him, and Theon can’t help but preen a little. 

“Well, I don’t know,” he says humbly. “I won’t deny I possess certain skills… being in my trade, you know…”

“Thieving,” Jon says curtly, face darkening. “So you came here to steal something? From your own uncle?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing,” Theon tries. “More like borrowing. Look, I’m having a tiny little spat with some real criminals who want to kill me because they think I stole something from them – not more than I was owed anyway, mind – and I thought maybe my dear uncle could help me out. Heard him say he has a fabulous treasure in here and, well.”

Curiously, Jon stiffens at Theon’s words. His eyes narrow, studying Theon with an intensity that starts to make Theon rather nervous. Something is working in Jon’s brain, that much is clear, and finally he seems to come to a conclusion. 

“Alright,” he says firmly. “We will make a deal. You help me get out of this tower and find what I am looking for, and you shall get my father’s treasure.”

“And what,” Theon asks, “are you looking for?”

Jon sighs, gaze softening. “True love’s kiss,” he says. 

What the actual fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Can't believe it's Monday again, grrrr. Well, at least it means I can post another chapter :)

“So where did you get this true love bullshit from when you spent all your life in here? Ouch!” 

Theon flinches when Jon dabs at the cut on his cheek with some ointment. It burns like all seven hells together. After Jon had finally untied him, he’d apologized for whacking Theon over the head with a fucking frying pan. And then he’d sighed and muttered something about, _can’t have you taking me out safely if you get blood poisoning_ , returning a minute later with a cloth, water and that mean, burning stuff. And now Theon is sitting here, sans shirt, trying not to whine as Jon tends to his scratches. He also tries to ignore his boner. Not an easy feat, what with those curls swaying back and forth this close to his face. Jon smells good, and cousin or not Theon wouldn’t have any objections to find out if he tastes good as well. Not a bright idea, though. The last thing Theon needs is anything to do with bloody love. 

“Read about it in a book.” Jon finally sets the burning stuff aside and takes something else in hand. Theon eyes him suspiciously, and Jon rolls his eyes. “Healing salve. Cools. Now hold still.”

Also easier said than done, Theon thinks grumpily as Jon’s fingertips softly move over his cheek, sending a zinging sensation over Theon’s skin. Next Jon focuses on Theon’s hands, working the salve into his palms until they’re all smooth and shining. Theon looks at his hands regretfully. It’d probably feel amazing to wank like that. But, he guesses, that’d be a tad too much for a boy who’s lived all nearly sixteen years of his life in a sodden tower in the middle of nowhere, with no contact to any human being except his batshit father. It’s still crazy, thinking of Jon as Euron’s son. They don’t look alike at all, apart from having the same hair colour. Jon has nothing of the rakish Greyjoy physique the rest of them all share. His mother must’ve been a beauty though. 

“There, that’s better.” 

Jon wipes his hands on the cloth, getting up to put everything away again. Theon watches him go, eyes on his pert bum. This journey’ll be hell if he has to keep it in his pants with _that_ in his face the whole time. Well, there’s always the very high possibility of Jon failing in his quest to find true love’s kiss by his sixteenth birthday. Which is in a week. Theon has no idea why that is to be the deadline, but Jon had been adamant. Something he’s read too, probably. And when Jon fails to find true love’s kiss – and Theon is abso-fucking-lutely sure he will fail – he’s told Theon he wants to be brought back here to the tower, to give Theon the treasure. And probably spend the rest of his life moping. Damn waste, as far as Theon is concerned. But Jon will be sad then, defeated, and in desperate need of consolation. Theon could console him quite thoroughly. 

He leans back in his chair, looking around. So far, as tower chambers go, this one seems to be quite cozy. There’s a bed, a table and chairs, a few shelves filled with books and games, a stove and a fireplace, and on the only other floor, the one below this one, Jon said he has a storage room. They’ll sleep here tonight and go off early on the morrow. Theon’s not sure if he’s looking forward to spending the night on the recliner he’s seen out on the gallery, but then it can’t be worse than last night’s moss bed. The bed looks comfortable enough, but unfortunately it’s off the table. Not if he wants to sleep at all. 

“Do you want to play something?” Jon has returned, eyes shining at the prospect of having someone to kill time with, so Theon just nods. “Good.” Jon turns to his shelves, studying them. “Cyvasse? Or Fox and Geese? I also have cards and dice, if you like, but we can’t play for money. I don’t have any.” He turns around, suddenly concerned, biting his lip. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“We’ll make some along the way,” Theon says distractedly, watching those white teeth worry the soft pink flesh. “I’ve always gotten by perfectly fine.”

“With stealing, you mean, Jon says disapprovingly. “That’s dishonourable. Couldn’t you find yourself an honest trade?”

“What, and _work_? With these hands?” Theon holds them up, studying them admiringly. “No, thank you. But you’re of course welcome to provide for us along the way, cousin. What with all your vast _experience_ …”

“Shut up!” Jon’s brows are gathering again. “It’s not my fault I haven’t been outside, okay?”

“I don’t see you being tied to the bed though.” Theon pauses at the intriguing thought, then shakes his head to get rid of it. “There’s a perfectly good rope just out there, there’s no army holding you back, no dragon guarding your tower… why don’t you just fuck off if you want that stupid kiss so badly?”

“I promised Father. And…” Jon shrugs. “Well, how could I survive alone out there? I’m not a skilled warrior like you must be, like Father is. The first monster or scoundrel would kill me right away.”

Skilled warrior… Theon feels his chest swell at those words. But… monsters? Scoundrels? Theon frowns. What the fuck has Euron told his son about the world out there? It sounds as if he’s described it a lot more dangerous than it really is. And for what? There’s a question that’s been nagging at Theon ever since he got here. What reason can Euron have to hide his son in here and tell him horror stories about the outside world? Maybe he really loves his son, a feeling Theon wouldn’t have trusted his uncle to possess. Maybe he’s just really scared something will happen to Jon. However it is, Theon has no intention of enlightening Jon. If the boy finds out he can probably get by on his own quite easily, he wouldn’t need Theon. There’d be no need for the deal and consequently no treasure. Theon keeps his mouth shut. 

“How far do you want to travel in search of your true love?” Theon asks an hour into the most boring game of Fox and Geese he’s ever played. “One week isn’t really a long time to go very far.”

“Oh.” Jon bites his poor lip some more, something he’s doing quite a lot, to Theon’s chagrin. Jon stares down at the board, then shrugs. “I haven’t thought about that.”

“Best take you to Riverrun, then,” Theon muses, moving the fox. “Decent sized town, not too far from here. I’d guess the more people there are, the greater your chance that one of them is your true love, right?”

“Sounds sensible.” Jon moves a goose. “Will we face many dangers on our way?”

Ghastly squirrels and one or two highwaymen at most, Theon thinks. Nothing he can’t cope with. “Oh yes, plenty,” he says out loud. “But don’t you worry your pretty head, cousin. I’ll slay the beasts for you. If I had a weapon that is.”

“You can borrow Father’s bow if you like,” Jon says. “Ha! Won again!”

Theon rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Jon’s excitement. His life must be really fucking boring if this game is a highlight. So of course he agrees to a rematch, thoughts straying to what Jon has said about borrowing Euron’s bow. If he really keeps it here in the tower… Theon’s good with a bow, and since his is still attached to the saddle of his runaway horse, he’s in dire need of one. It would provide him with a weapon, and an opportunity of showing off before his cousin some more. On the other hand, if Euron should ever catch Theon touching his bow… Theon shudders. But then Euron is away, and will be for some time. They should have no problem making it to Riverrun and back before his return. 

“So,” Theon says in lieu of having anything more interesting to talk about, “tell me more about those things you read. About that true love blabla. So I know what we’re looking for.”

“Hm.” Jon’s hand stays immobile on the fox. “I don’t really know, to be honest. It’s just…” He plucks the little figurine from the board, enclosing it in his fist. “It’s just this book I read. There are lots of stories in it, all ending with the heroes finding true love. And all of their problems go away when they finally kiss their true love. I...” Jon sighs, cheeks reddening. “I want to experience it. Just one time… I think I could bear living like this better if I just had the memory of that one, perfect moment…”

Jon trails off, staring into nothing. His longing is palpable, and Theon finds himself a little touched, against his will. 

“And if you find it?” he asks before thinking better of it. “True love? Wouldn’t you want to stay with that person instead of coming back here?” 

“I could never do that to Father.” Jon looks up, his eyes full of sad resignation. “I’m feeling bad enough going behind his back like this. I could never leave him forever. He’s everything I’ve got. Even if…” Jon trails off, giving a little shrug before visibly pulling himself together. “Enough of this. Are you hungry?”

They eat a simple but delicious meal of cold meat, cheese and bread, and wash it down with watered wine. Upon Theon’s question Jon explains how he’s collecting rainwater in the barrel out on the gallery. And every time Euron visits, which is almost every day as it seems, he hauls bucketfuls of water up here from the stream. Jon is decently provided for in Euron’s absence. But what if something were to happen to him? Theon asks, and Jon shrugs. 

“We have an agreement. If he’s ever gone for longer than a fortnight, I am to throw a message outside. There’s a man Euron knows, with a scarred face. He’s the only one who knows about me, but I’m not allowed to talk to him. Euron says he can’t be fully trusted.” Jon takes a sip of his glass, swallowing thoughtfully. “Once, when I was ten, Euron got held up on a journey. The man came and tied food and water to the rope for me to pull up. He brought me lovely lemon cakes.”

After their meal they play some more - cards this time - until it gets too dark to distinguish spades from clubs anymore. Jon starts to yawn and Theon’s actually not opposed to turning in early for once. It’s been a long day. Strangely, Jon seems rather reluctant to go to bed. He keeps shooting Theon little glances, obviously trying to build up the courage to ask something. At last, just as Theon wants to bid him a good night and venture outside to the recliner, Jon comes out with it. 

“This will seem strange…” He clears his throat, cheeks colouring so very prettily. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but... It’s just...”

“Spit it out already,” Theon tells him, getting impatient.

“Father always brushes my hair before I go to bed and he leaves.” Jon’s face is starting to resemble an over-ripe summer apple. “I have a hard time falling asleep when he’s away and can’t do it.”

Well, shit. Theon stares at Jon, at his red cheeks, his lovely hair… “Yeah, sure,” he hears himself say, and that is that. 

Jon looks relieved, if still a little embarrassed, but he does produce a thick-toothed comb from somewhere, holding it out to Theon without looking at him. And just like that Theon finds himself brushing Jon’s hair, gently, careful not to catch on any snarl in the thick curls. It’s… peculiar. Not something he’s ever done for anybody. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it. Truth be told… it feels amazing, those silky strands gliding through his fingers, Jon’s heavy weight leaning back against him, the little tune Jon is humming under his breath… In the end Theon is glad when he’s done, glad when Jon finally slips into bed and Theon can slump on the recliner on his own.

“Theon?” comes Jon’s voice out of the dark. “I… thank you. I’m so happy you came.”

“Yeah,” Theon says. “Go to sleep.” 

Yep. This journey is going to be fucking hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning! Enjoy the intimacy while it lasts, boys! :D

Jon feels guilty. Not that that’s anything new for him – he feels guilty all the time. For wanting to leave the tower, for going behind Father’s back, for being ungrateful and not as good a son as Father wants him to be. But this is a different kind of guilt. Jon watches Theon carefully selecting arrows to put in Father’s quiver, whistling a merry tune. Will his cousin be angry when he learns the truth? 

Jon sighs, trying to call himself to order. He can’t tell Theon yet. He can’t tell him that there’s no gold, no jewels, no treasure. Just Jon. He’d known immediately when Theon spoke of it, what Father had said. Euron has called Jon his treasure so often, stroking his hair, telling him he’s worth more than all the gold in the world… 

Theon will be so disappointed. But there’s no way around it; Jon needs him. He wouldn’t be able to make it alone out there, in a world full of monsters and scoundrels. A world where a bastard has no worth. Jon remembers the stories he’s read, and what Father has told him again and again: bastards have no place among honourable folk. They are born of lust, lies and weakness; treacherous and wanton by nature. It is a great shame for a man to have fathered a bastard, and Jon doesn’t want to bring more shame to Father, the only person who wanted him, when even his own mother didn’t. 

Jon glances at Theon, shouldering Father’s huge bow with ease. He didn’t show any signs of revulsion upon learning of Jon’s parentage, nor has he mocked or scorned him for it. Another surge of guilt threatens to undo Jon’s resolve. 

“Are you ready?” Theon asks with a cocky wink. “Let’s find you someone to smooch.”

Jon rolls his eyes, guilt dissipating a little. What does a thief know of true love? The impression he has of Theon so far is that of a careless, happy-go-lucky sort of guy. Dreaming of gold, scampering about in a dangerous world without a thought of all the dangers lurking. Maybe he’s just really brave, and Jon can’t help but feel a hint of admiration for him. Of course Jon’s been overdoing it with the big eyes and breathless awe. It works well on Father, too, making him give Jon anything he wants. Well, _almost_ anything. But it had still been nice of Theon, humouring Jon and playing silly games with him, and then… 

Jon blushes, cheeks heating at the memory of last night. It had been hard to ask a complete stranger for such an intimate thing. But the humiliation was better than another night of lonely wakefulness, and Theon’s hands, the way he guided the comb gently through Jon’s hair… it was nicer than when Father did it. Father’s hands never made Jon’s skin tingle. 

Jon scolds himself, shouldering his bag. He can’t keep thinking like that. He has a goal, the one thing he wants more than anything he ever wanted before. Theon can mock him all he likes – Jon will find his true love. Just that one moment of pure magic, of two souls connecting and becoming one, and then he’ll come back. Father mustn’t ever know, or it would break his heart. 

A horrible thought strikes him. Euron should be away long enough, but what if some unforeseen occurrence brings him home earlier? Mind resolved, Jon waits for Theon to go out onto the gallery before scribbling a short note for Father - an apology, and a promise. 

Jon takes a last look around the tower. This has been his home all his life, has meant shelter and warmth and safety. He’s been happy here, sometimes. There have been good moments. But mostly, he’s been incredibly lonely. Spending day after day with no one to talk to but Father on his evening visits, reading the same books over and over again, friendless, trapped in his own head. 

Jon swallows, throat tightening. If he leaves, if he really leaves now… everything will change. The walls seem to close in, making it hard to breathe. This tower is his home, yes. But it’s also a prison. A cage that will feel all the worse once he’s known a different world. But if he succeeds, if he finds what he’s looking for… it’ll be worth it. 

“I’m coming,” he says.

Ahead of him, Theon huffs.

“By all means, sweet cousin, take your time. It’s not like we only have a week to get this done.”

Jon smiles. He’s not alone anymore. Not right now at least. 

***

It’s not an easy feat, climbing down a rope with Jon doing the same right above Theon. He’s doing it well, as if he’s done it a thousand times. Maybe he has, Theon muses, to train for his big escape. No, the real problem is Jon’s round arse right in Theon’s face the whole time and the havoc this wreaks on Theon’s concentration. They do make it down eventually, both in one piece, and Theon rubs his stinging hands together. He should’ve asked Jon to bring that cooling salve. Maybe he can ask him to go and get it, and Theon turns to Jon to tell him just that, only to find Jon standing on the grass, one hand against the wall of the tower. He’s trembling. 

“Jon?” Theon says, “Are you alright?”

Almost unnoticeably, Jon shakes his head. His breath is going fast, and when he looks at Theon his eyes are wide and panicked. “I’m outside,” he whispers, and all of a sudden his face lightens up, mouth stretching into a wide, exuberant smile. “I’m outside!” he hollers, and with that he takes off across the meadow and towards the stream. Theon follows, a vague feeling he can’t identify tugging at his insides and swelling in his chest. Jon looks so happy, like a child, as he dunks both hands into the water, laughing when it produces a loud splash. 

Theon crouches down beside him. “Jon. You were serious, right? About never going outside.”

“Never,” Jon says. His eyes are sparkling, and suddenly he falls backwards, a dreamy look on his face. “I didn’t think it’d be so...so…” Lost for words he grabs handfuls of grass, throwing it in the air, laughing again when it rains back down on him. 

“That’s… just not right,” Theon mutters, shaking his head. Jon sighs, sitting up. His cheeks are red, grass blades are stuck in his hair, and his eyes… “It’s not right,” Theon says again. 

“I know,” Jon says, shrugging a little. “But it feels so good in my fingers, I just had to–”

“Not you, you moron,” Theon snaps. “My bloody uncle – _your_ bloody father. He shouldn’t have done this to you, kept you locked up as if you’re some kind of halfwit or simpleton. All of this…” Theon waves at their surroundings. “It should be natural for you. You should have always been able to go down to the stream, or feel grass under your hands whenever you wanted to!”

“He means well,” Jon says quietly. “And I’m here now, right?” He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply before looking at Theon with a half smile. “Thank you. For making this possible. I’m forever in your debt.”

He looks so lovely, Theon can’t stop himself. He reaches out, pulling a grass blade from Jon’s hair before tucking the strand behind his ear. Jon doesn’t move, just keeps looking at Theon with his beautiful brown eyes, and for a moment time seems to come to a halt. Theon means to say something, but nothing comes to mind. 

“Shouldn’t we get going?” Jon asks, and the moment breaks. “We should go as far as we can before night falls and all the monsters and scoundrels come out of hiding.”

“Don’t you worry about monsters, sweetling,” Theon says, pulling his hand back with a sense of regret. “I’ll defend you against all of them.”

The way through the forest is simultaneously a lot easier and a lot harder than when Theon had made his way through for the first time. Easier, because now it’s daytime and he can actually see where he’s going. Harder, because Jon stops every few steps to smell a flower or feel up a tree or something of the sort. Theon can’t even scold him for it, or tell him to get a move on. It’s just too endearing. And a little stressful, too, when Jon tries to eat poisonous berries, or when a deer suddenly breaks from the bushes and scares Jon half to death. His clinging to Theon’s side is gratifying though, and while Theon feels a little like a nursemaid, he can’t deny he’s enjoying the role of the wise, seasoned teacher and strongman. 

Their progress is slow, and it starts to get dark before they are halfway to the inn. Not that it’s a problem; they’ve brought enough food to last them for days. But the darker it gets, the more nervous Jon seems, until Theon decides to make a stop. They leave the path, making their way through the undergrowth until Theon finds a place he’s satisfied with. It’s a large hollow at the foot of an especially big tree, filled with dried leaves soft enough to make their camp there. Jon settles down onto the blanket Theon has insisted on bringing with them, looking up at him with big eyes. Theon looks back. At last, he sighs. 

“Give me the damn thing already.”

Jon blushes, but he produces the comb from his pocket, handing it over without looking up. With a long-suffering sigh, Theon sits down beside Jon, and immediately Jon shifts until he has his back to him and the torture from last night starts anew. Strand after silky strand Theon carefully separates with his fingers before he lets the comb slide through. Jon sighs a little, shoulders sagging as his whole body relaxes. He must’ve been really tense, Theon thinks. And now it’s him tensing up, fucking great. This is… it just feels so perfect, and on top of that there’s that scent clinging to Jon’s hair, a fresh and clean smell despite all the walking and crawling through bushes. Theon leans forward against his will, inhaling deeply. It makes him dizzy. 

“Everything okay?” Jon’s voice breaks through Theon’s hazy thoughts. “You’re so quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Theon mutters dismissively. He’s done with the brushing, but somehow he doesn't want to stop. He lays the comb aside, driving his fingers into the mass of curls instead. “Your hair..you’ve got...I mean..Your hair is really lovely.” It comes out gruffly, more like an accusation than a compliment. 

“Oh,” Jon says, sounding surprised. “Thank you, I guess? Father likes it too. He says it’s like magic. But he never does what you’re doing now,” he adds, and Theon’s fingers freeze mid-move. Jon yawns, leaning back. “I like it.”

“Hmm.” Reluctantly, Theon stops what he’s doing. He’s hard as iron and the night is going to be uncomfortable at best. “Let’s go to sleep. Long day ahead tomorrow.”

“Good night.” Jon yawns once more as he settles down, curling under Theon’s cloak. “And thank you again.”

They break their fast in silence the next morning. Theon feels embarrassed. Jon hasn’t said a word, but he must’ve felt Theon poking him in the night. With his dick. It just wouldn’t go down, and finally Theon had fallen into an uneasy sleep, but of _course_ he’d rolled towards Jon in the night. He’d woken up with Jon tightly nestled into his arms, still fast asleep, thank fuck. When Theon had come back from a piss and a very guilty, very fast wank Jon was awake though, red as a summer apple and refusing to say a single thing except Good Morning. 

After breakfast they walk back to the path and resume their way. It’s still a good couple hours to the inn, but Theon doesn’t plan to stop for a bite. If the barkeep knows of Jon and should recognize him… They are coming into a more populated area now and, just to be safe, Theon picks up a decent-sized branch and holds it out to Jon. 

“In case there are too many scoundrels for me to fight at once, that’ll keep them off until I have time to get them for you,” Theon tells Jon grandly. “But I don’t think it’ll be necess–”

An almighty ruckus behind him stops Theon mid-sentence, and he turns around just in time to see a gigantic horse come at them, an armoured knight on its back – brandishing his sword. Theon shoves the stick into Jon’s hand, stumbling a step back, then another, and two more. 

Kingsguard or Bolton mercenary, it doesn’t matter. They’re fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's...not what protecting anyone looks like, Theon. *facepalm*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning/evening etc! 
> 
> I know it's not Monday, but since there'll be another chapter of Tuesdays on, well, Tuesday, I decided to post the Tangled chapters a day earlier from now on. 
> 
> Here's our gallant knight in shining armour :)

It’s quite extraordinary to watch, even in Theon’s panicked state. At first, Jon seems frozen stiff, but then the boy actually raises the stick, every inch of his body ready for a fight. Theon can’t help but feel a surge of admiration. There Jon had been, so scared of being attacked, and now he stands up to a grown knight in heavy armour! Who, curiously, has tucked away his sword, making no move to attack. Instead he lifts both arms in a gesture of goodwill, and Theon relaxes a fraction.

“I mean you no harm, I assure you.”

The knight’s voice is muffled by his helmet, but it has the desired effect: Jon relaxes too, stick still held high, but he seems more at ease. The knight removes his helmet and Theon very nearly scoffs. Another boy! Looking not much older than Jon, actually. He has a head full of auburn curls, a wide, sincere smile and the bluest eyes Theon has ever seen. He dislikes him immediately. 

Jon finally lowers the stick and turns around, glaring at Theon with a murderous expression. 

“That’s what you call defending me? Hiding behind me _at the first sign of danger?_ ”

“Whoa,” Theon says, taking a step back. Jon looks pissed, and also a little hurt. “I just… I wanted to get into a good position to shoot him down, okay?”

“Bullshit!” Jon snarls. “You were about to _bail on me!_ ”

“Of fucking course I wasn’t!” Theon contradicts. “I wanted to go around and surprise attack him from the other side!”

“BOLLOCKS!” Jon nearly screams it, raising his fists in an angry gesture. “You’re nothing but a co–”

“Er...beg your pardon?”

They both look over at the knight, who has dismounted his horse and is now leaning against it, looking slightly bewildered. 

“I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself properly. My name is Robb, and one day I will be a lord. People call me the Young Wolf.” He smiles charmingly, walking over to them and dropping onto one knee before Jon. “I once was prophesied I would one day meet a fair princess, locked in a tower by her cruel father. She is to be my destiny.” He places a hand over his heart, gazing up at Jon adoringly. “Speak one word, oh fair one, and I am yours.”

“You do realize he’s a dude, right?” Theon asks, ignoring Jon’s glare. “I think you got the wrong tower, buddy.”

“I assure you, I have not.” The Young Wolf sniffs, looking put out. “I have been waiting by this tower for a fortnight, yearning for a glimpse of my princess, singing ballads in the hope of starting a duet–”

“Oh, that was you?” Jon doesn’t seem to find the situation ridiculous at all, much to Theon’s dismay. On the contrary, he even starts to smile! “I thought I’d heard someone singing,” Jon muses. “But I was sure it was only in my head.”

“It was my heart speaking to you,” Robb says earnestly, reaching out and taking Jon’s hand. “I vie for your favour, sweet maiden!”

“I’m Jon,” Jon says, making no move to take his hand back, Theon notes with growing disdain. “But you know, he’s right. I’m really not a girl. Or a princess.”

 _Finally._ Theon nods, satisfied. This’ll put an end to all of this rubbi–

“The visible form does not change the matters of the heart,” Robb declares, unperturbed. “Man or woman, you are the one I am looking for!”

Theon can’t bear it any second longer, how they are gawking at each other with big cow eyes and dopey smiles. “What a load of crap,” he says loudly. “Jon, you can’t just go and fall for the first stranger who flatters you with pretty words!”

“You shut up,” Jon says fiercely. “Why don’t you go and hide again while I kiss my true love?”

“ _I wasn’t hiding!!!”_

“Yes you _were_!”

“I would never hide in the face of danger,” Robb meddles annoyingly, getting to his feet. “I would give my life to protect you. I would fight every enemy, just for one word, one kiss from your sweet lips.”

Theon throws him a look of pure loathing. Fucking knight with his big words and his big sword and his probably big–

“Let’s do this,” Jon says all of a sudden, and with a determined look he throws his arms around Robb’s neck and presses their mouths together. 

Theon’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as he watches this… this _travesty_ unfold. It isn’t even a real kiss! Jon’s eyes are screwed shut, as is his mouth, and that loathsome knight doesn’t look to be much better at it either. Theon scoffs. Bloody idiots, both of them, idiots who… oh dear god. They start kissing in earnest. What had seemed clumsy and awkward at first turns into a real kiss, Jon opening his lips, the knight’s hand coming up to cradle the back of Jon’s head as he devours Jon’s mouth… Theon feels sick to his stomach, but it’s impossible to look away. He watches Jon’s hands grabbing the knight’s hair, watches him melt against the broad chest…

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Theon yells, and the two boys finally break apart, both short of breath and beet-red. “Please tell me he’s your true fucking love so we can put an end to this shit show!”

***

Jon’s first kiss goes about as well as he could have hoped for. At first it does seem strange, feeling another person’s mouth on his, peculiar and dry and not very spectacular. But then… oh, _then…_ that other mouth softens, lips parting, and Jon follows suit, the kiss deepens and strong fingers dig into the back of his head. A sigh escapes Jon’s throat, maybe even a tiny whimper, as he tangles his hands into short, soft curls, as a tongue slips into his mouth, exploring him, tasting him… Jon’s knees go weak as the kiss goes on and on, the necessity to breathe only a tiny nuisance in the farthest corner of his consciousness…

It’s so good. It feels _so good._ But there isn’t any spark. No magic, no notion of having found his other half. When Theon’s shout breaks them apart Jon feels as much relieved as disappointed. A part of him wants to keep kissing, but what for? This isn’t true love’s kiss. The knight’s eyes are as blue as the sky above them, looking at Jon hopefully, gently, and Jon loathes the thought of shattering the moment. But there’s no way around it. 

“He’s not my true love,” Jon says regretfully. “The kiss was amazing…”

“Was it now,” Theon grumbles. 

“It was. But you’re not my true love,” Jon says to the knight. “I’m so sorry. I wish you were. It’d make things much easier.”

“Don’t worry.” The knight – Robb, Jon remembers – smiles sadly. He reaches out, brushing the tip of his finger over Jon’s cheek. “I shall stay by your side until you have found what you are looking for. My most fervent wish is to see my princess smile.”

“Whoa, whoa, I’ll stop you right there!” Suddenly Theon is standing beside them, angrily looking from Robb to Jon and back again. “Why the fuck would you think you can come with us? We don’t have time for bloody ballads or any of your shite, we have to get a move on if Jon wants to find his true love or whatever.”

“Theon, stop being rude. Robb can certainly come with us if he wishes to. Maybe he’ll be a better protector than you have proven to be.” Jon accentuates his words with a withering glower in Theon’s direction. “That’s my last word on the matter,” he adds when Theon opens his mouth to protest. “Or you can very quickly forget about that treasure you’re so desperate for!”

This does shut Theon up rather effectively, and with a last furious look at Robb he adjusts the bow over his shoulder and stalks away. Jon watches him go, irritated. 

“He’ll get over it,” Robb says in Jon’s ear. “Do you want to ride for a while?”

“I’d like that,” Jon says, deliberately turning his gaze away from Theon’s back. “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

It turns out to be not as hard as Jon would’ve thought it to be, once he’s actually on top of the beast. Which is really big. But with Robb’s gallant assistance he quickly settles in the saddle. Robb is walking beside him, reins in hand, leading the horse along the path behind Theon. Jon frowns, still feeling riled up. Theon’s marching on as if he has to win a race, not even sparing them a single glance. Why is he so angry? Jon should be the angry one. _Is_ the angry one. After all those big words of how Theon would defend him… Jon shakes his head, trying to concentrate on Robb’s amiable chatter. 

“...two sisters and two brothers, all younger than me. Babes, really. Don’t get me wrong, I love them a lot, but I’ve always wished I had a brother closer to my age.”

“And your parents?” Jon finds he’s curious about this stranger’s family.

“Well, my father is a famous lord. People call him the Wolf. Probably because our sigil is a wolf.” Robb shrugs. “My mother is a lady from this region, actually, so it makes sense that I come with you. I‘ll be able to say hello to my grandfather and my uncle in Riverrun. You’ll like it there, it’s a nice place! Mother told me a lot of stories about growing up there. It’s not as cold as my home is.”

Jon smiles absently, listening with half a mind as Robb continues to talk about his home. It sounds so lovely, having a mother who tells you stories, and a father who takes you riding and hunting. And here Jon is, with a mother who didn’t want him and a father who wouldn’t let him go outside. Yes, Father means well… But Jon can’t help thinking that maybe Theon had spoken the truth when he said it wasn’t right of Father to keep Jon locked up, his bastard son, his secret shame. And, Jon can’t help but notice, the world doesn’t seem to be too dangerous so far. 

Jon sighs, looking over the horse’s huge head at Theon, still marching on determinedly. He’s his cousin. And he’s been nice, apart from the cowardly hiding. It had felt nice, too, sleeping beside him in the woods. Jon had felt safe, comfortable. Even with all the poking. But that’s nothing new, really. Father pokes into him too, on the few nights he spends at the tower, making Jon lie awake while Father snores like thunder. Maybe it really is the hair, Jon muses, that makes men… well, poke. He had to give himself a very stern talking-to as well last night. When Theon had had both hands in Jon’s hair, stroking it… 

Jon shifts in the saddle as certain parts of him start to grow at the memory. Yes, it’s definitely his bloody hair. Maybe he should just chop it off as short as Robb’s. Jon wonders if Theon would still like to stroke it then, if he would still think it pretty. Better leave it for now, Jon decides. Besides, Father would throw a fit if he found Jon with short hair all of a sudden. Maybe later, when Theon has taken him back home. 

Back home… Jon shudders. He doesn’t even want to think of his tower, of how dull it’ll be. And Theon, treasureless, will be too angry to stay. It’d be so nice if he stayed, just for a little while longer. Maybe once he’s over the whole treasure thing, he could be persuaded to come for a visit sometime. Maybe–

“Hey, Jon? Princess?”

Jon surfaces from his thoughts as Robb’s voice gets louder. He looks at him apologetically, but Robb just grins. 

“If it bothers you that much, why don’t you go and talk to him? I’m sure you’ll both feel better once you talk it out. Here,” he says, handing Jon the reins. “You just hold on and give him a gentle dig in the sides with your heels – not too hard or he’ll go off.”

Jon does as he’s told, and to his amazement the horse falls into a nice little trot. Jon holds on tight, and in no time at all he’s reached Theon. Jon sits back, holding onto the reins tightly, and the horse slows to a walk. Jon grins. Horse riding isn’t difficult at all! 

“Don’t tell me you’re already sick of your new best friend in his shining armour,” Theon says icily. 

“Would you stop being so stupid?” Jon scowls. “I thought we could talk.”

“Not as long as you are up on your high horse we can’t.”

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake!” 

Jon swings his leg over the broad back, and without further ado he jumps down. Directly onto Theon. With a startled cry he topples over, taking Jon to the ground with him. Jon blinks, looking into Theon’s shocked face – and starts laughing. It’s too funny, his wide eyes and horrified expression, and Jon lies his head down on Theon’s chest as another surge of laughter ripples through him. Finally he chuckles one last time, lifting his head. 

“I’m down now.”

“I can see that,” Theon mutters, but the corners of his mouth are starting to twitch and he doesn’t look so grumpy anymore. “Now get off me, and then we can have that bloody talk.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dears! It's Sunday once again and here's the next chapter of those boys being really silly. 
> 
> Brace yourselves for a lot of jealousy, another (unsuccessful) kiss - and yes, there's going to be some singing XD

“It’s not as if you were in any real danger, so I don’t get why you’re so upset, really.”

Theon sighs morosely, shoving his hands in his pockets. They’re walking side by side, Robb trailing behind them and whistling merrily to himself. It’s annoying as fuck. Jon is leading the horse as if he’s been doing it his whole life, and Theon can’t help throwing him little side glances. He looks perfectly at ease, not scared at all anymore. He also still looks angry, despite his earlier laughing fit. 

“That’s not the point and you know it,” Jon insists. “I was depending on you! I’d never have left the tower without a proper guard and then my guard turns out to just fuck off when an actual knight attacks…”

“ _The knight said to his maid, I shall slay the beast for you_ ,” Robb sings loudly behind them. “ _For he swore his sword to his love sweet and true!_ ”

“Oh FINE!” Theon shouts, throwing a vitriolic look over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it, I should have thrown myself in front of you to shield you from the danger. Which is apparently death by ear bleeding if that noise doesn’t stop.”

“Well, thank you.” Jon half-smiles at Theon before his pretty features turn into a frown again. “I really wish you would stop being so rude to Robb, though. What’s your problem?”

“I could tell you what his problem is,” Robb says helpfully, “but if looks could kill I’d be dead a thousand times over by now so I’ll rather shut my mouth.”

“Good plan,” Theon grumbles, then groans when Robb takes up his bloody song again. 

Jon looks half put out, half curious, but thankfully he doesn’t inquire further. Theon doesn’t have an answer for him anyway. All he knows is that he wants to take that Young Wolf by the scruff of his neck and toss him back to where he came from. He’s annoying. And chivalrous. And handsome. _He kissed Jon._ Theon feels a new surge of rage rising in his chest at the thought and immediately scolds himself silently. That’s the whole point of this journey, isn’t it? For Jon to find true love’s kiss. It was to be expected he’d have to kiss a few frogs on the way. Not that Robb could be called a frog, really. He’s every princess’ dream come true. And Jon seems to like him, a lot. Theon clenches his hands into fists in his pockets. 

“We just don’t need him,” he finally says. “I mean it. I’ll take care of you.”

“I wish I knew how to fight.” Jon kicks at a pine cone in his path. “Then no one would have to defend me and I could take care of _you_.”

That’s so nice, and so unexpected, that Theon finds himself at a loss of words. Unfortunately, Robb doesn’t.

“Oi, princess,” he calls, waiting for Jon to stop and turn to him. Theon does too, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. What now?? “If you wish I could teach you how to handle a sword. I bet you’re a quick learner!”

“Oh,” Jon says, his whole face lighting up. “That’d be amazing, thank you! Can we start right away?”

“Or,” Theon hastens to say, “I could teach you bow shooting! Better against monsters and scoundrels, you can snuff them out from afar.”

“Coward,” Robb coughs under his breath, but Jon just bites his lip, giving Theon a shy look. 

“Sure,” he says, “thank you. Father always says I’m too pretty to fight.” 

“Well, he’s not wrong. About being pretty I mean.” Theon shrugs and turns to go on. Behind him, the torture recommences. 

_“The dragon’s screech rang loud and far, his wings threw shadows on the heart. But the knight he knew no fear, he slayed the beast for his maiden dear!”_

Jon starts to hum along with the catchy melody, and Theon just wants to comment on that when all of a sudden a loud screech rings out above them. Theon looks up in disbelief, just in time to see a huge creature fly directly over their heads. Robb has looked up too, the song dying on his lips as he reaches for his sword. Theon swallows against the fear threatening to rise in him as the dragon – an actual, fucking dragon! – screeches again, making Theon’s blood freeze. He fumbles for Euron’s bow, reaches into the quiver, and in a heartbeat he has an arrow ready to let loose should the beast decide to come for them. 

Which it does. It flies a loop, huge head outstretched as it searches the ground for prey. Theon draws the bowstring back just a little further, aiming for the dragon’s eye. He holds his breath and lets go, but the damn beast rolls over in the air, dodging the arrow with ease. Theon curses, drawing another arrow from the quiver, but then he screams in horror when the dragon suddenly descends upon them. It grazes the treetops, finally breaking through branches and twigs with a horrible sound before it lands on the ground with an earth-shattering noise. The dragon roars, and behind Theon, Jon cries out. 

***

The horse rears at the first sound the dragon makes, and Jon has his hands too full with trying to keep a hold on the panicked animal to look up at the sky. He can hear it though, gigantic wings beating the air, the screeching, the forest shattering under its weight. The beast lands with a huge thump and the horse screams, rearing again, and this time it knocks Jon over and he cries out, letting go of the reins as he falls to the ground. He stays there, covering his head as another horrible screech rings out, but nothing else happens and after a while Jon carefully lifts his head. And doesn’t believe his eyes! 

Both of his so-called guardians are standing there, opposite each other and with their arms raised – quarreling! Jon stares at them open-mouthed. This can’t be true. Instead of slaying the beast they’re too busy shouting at each other to even look for Jon! What if the horse had knocked him unconscious or dragged him away? Jon scrambles to his feet, dusting leaves off his cloak. He can hear the dragon breathing behind the trees; so far it doesn’t seem to want to attack them. Maybe it’d be good to sneak up on it and kill it before it can change its mind? Jon marches over to the two idiots, still too caught up in their shouting match to take notice. 

“You bloody idiot, what do you think you can do with your tiny sword? It won’t even pierce the dragon’s skin!”

“Yeah, we much better rely on your aim, o’ mighty warrior! Don’t think I haven’t seen your miss!”

“You could always try to murder it with your so called singing, you deranged nightingale!”

“Oh, so now you show your true colours, eh? Just so you know, Jon likes my singing!”

“That’s only because he has nothing to compare it to!”

“Well, that certainly explains why he would hang about with someone like _you!_ ”

“Or kiss the first stranger he runs across, eh?”

“At least I got a kiss, you jealous son of a–”

Jon stops in his tracks as Theon gives a strangled cry, throwing his bow away and leaping at Robb in a flurry of fisticuffs. They both topple over, rolling on the ground, pulling each other’s hair and huffing and yelling obscenities that have Jon’s ears go red. None of them notice when he picks up Robb’s equally discarded sword. It’s bloody heavy, but Jon finds he can manage to swing it around quite easily. He tries a few moves, nodding to himself. Leaving the idiots to their fight, Jon walks over to where the trees conceal the dragon. Strange that it hasn’t come to eat them yet, what with all the noise Robb and Theon are making. 

Jon sneaks through the trees, sword in hand, until he can see the first glimmers of scaled skin. He can smell the dragon, a sharp, pungent tang that makes the hairs in Jon’s neck stand on end. Beneath it there’s a hint of rotting flesh, and all in all it’s rather off-putting. Still, Jon walks on. What would Father say if he could see Jon now, his precious, treasured son, ready to kill a dragon? Jon chuckles to himself. Father’d probably have a heart attack. He’s very near now, the rear end of the beast right before him. He’ll have to get to the eyes, Jon thinks, or at the dragon’s belly maybe. But before he can decide how to go about this, a voice from high above nearly startles him out of his skin. 

“Hello there! You, with the sword!”

Jon looks up, mouth falling open in shock when his gaze falls on a woman – sitting on top of the dragon’s back! He blinks, watching as she starts to climb down the humongous beast as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Finally she’s down, standing before him and rearranging the folds of her dress. Jon stares. She’s very pretty. Long, blonde hair that seems almost white, wound around her head in complicated braids and flowing down her back. Her face is beautiful, huge violet eyes framed with thick lashes, and a teasing smile that has Jon’s cheeks heating up. 

“You don’t want to kill my baby, do you?” she asks, still smiling, but with a hint of steel beneath the sweetness of her tone. “I would be reluctant to order him to eat you.”

“Uh… no?” Jon quickly hides the sword behind his back. “I mean, I didn’t know it was a… a… a pet dragon. I thought it would want to eat me anyway.”

“Oh no, we’re just stopping for a spot of lunch. For me,” the girl clarifies. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to eat in the air.” She smiles again. “What is your name then, fearless warrior?”

“Jon,” says Jon, making a little bow like he’s seen Theon doing upon their meeting, hoping it does look as elegant. “I’m not a warrior though.”

“You’re brave enough – or stupid enough – to creep up on a resting dragon,” is the laconic answer, and Jon’s blush deepens. The girl laughs. “Don’t worry, I can see you mean no harm to me or Drogon. Nice to meet you, Jon. My name is Daenerys. You can call me Dany. Do you want to share my lunch with me? I bought lemon cakes from a very unfriendly man earlier.”

Ten minutes later it’s as if they have known each other forever. Dany’s stories about her crazy family are hilarious. She tells him of her other two dragons, of her castle, of her friends and their shenanigans. She’s just really chatty and sweet. That, and she doesn’t mock Jon when he tells her about his quest, nor does she recoil in horror when he mentions his parentage. She even introduces him to the dragon, who hasn’t done anything more dangerous than snoring up little flames and setting a few bushes on fire. Jon pets the dry, scaly skin, heart beating in his chest when the dragon’s eye rolls to look at him standing at its side. The eye blinks, then slowly closes, as if the beast is enjoying the attention. 

“You know, I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t a Targaryen that Drogon tolerated,” Dany muses. “You should come and visit me in my castle sometime. We could go flying together… Maybe Rhaegal would be the right mount for you.”

“I’d like that,” Jon says sadly. “But I can’t leave the tower once I’m back there. Doing this to Father once is bad enough as it is, I couldn’t do it again.”

“Then I’ll have to come and visit you. And perhaps I’ll have a little chat with your father.” Dany smiles rather grimly before she starts to laugh at the face Jon makes. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t... “ She trails off, looking over Jon’s shoulder at something behind him, one eyebrow clambering up. “Er… do you know these two gentlemen?”

Jon turns around, and sure enough two sorry figures are standing at the edge of the clearing, gawking at Jon and Dany and Drogon like they’re ghosts. Jon surveys their faces, smugly noting that Robb has a tear in his eyebrow and a bloody lip, while Theon looks like he’ll be sporting a black eye very soon, and a nice bruise to match it on his jaw. Serves them right, both of them. Jon pets the dragon once again to make sure they’ve seen it.

“Nevermind them,” he tells Dany. “But I do think it’s time to go on if I want to accomplish what I am betraying my father for.”

“Do you want to try it out with me?” Dany asks. “I mean, we’re getting on like a castle on fire, maybe this is what true love looks like.”

“Sure,” Jon says, closing his eyes and leaning forward. He thinks he can hear her chuckle, but it’s not important because then she kisses him. Which is… nice. Comfortable. Rather short. Jon opens his eyes, looking at Dany with a frown. She looks back, a similar frown on her face. Jon shrugs. “That was…”

“Nice,” Dany says. 

“Yeah, definitely.” Jon nods. “But…”

“Exactly.”

They both look at each other and suddenly Dany starts giggling. Jon smiles helplessly, not having the least idea what’s so funny. 

“Sorry,” Dany finally says with a sigh, reaching up to muss Jon’s hair. “But your face was too precious just now. I’ve never seen anyone so underwhelmed after kissing me.”

That makes Jon laugh too. In the end they swap addresses and Dany promises to send a raven soon. She clambers up onto her dragon and Jon steps back, watching Drogon get to his feet and finally take off ungracefully, taking down half the forest as he goes. Jon watches them until they’re nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon before he finally turns around to face his suspiciously silent companions. 

“So,” Jon says, regarding them sternly. “Are we done with the nonsense so we can get going? I want to sleep under a roof tonight, and I want a bath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this has been a shit week. I dunno I feel really awful and lonely *whine*  
> At least there's always fic! I hope you like this!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G'day lovely people! More jealous Theon you asked? Here you go XD

Once more Theon finds himself going first, leading the party towards the tavern. Jon had looked very much like he’d love to stomp ahead, throwing them pissy glances, but since he didn’t know the way… Not that Theon isn’t glad about some time alone with his thoughts. They’re going haywire. First the unnecessary skirmish with Robb – who has a mean right hook, Theon has to admit – and then the incredible sight of Jon, casual as anything, standing beside a massive fucking dragon! The vision had done something strange to Theon’s insides, a curious mix of awe and a sense of panic he can’t explain. And then Jon had actually _touched_ the thing, and Theon still feels like he’s recovering from the shock ripping through him. 

He’s heard of the dragon riders, of course, although he’s never met one of them before. And the girl had looked fierce enough to control the beast – as far as dragons can be controlled. Theon shudders, all the possibilities of what could have happened way too clear in his mind. It could’ve rolled over, crushing Jon. It could’ve just slurped him up like a little snack, or set him on fire, or stepped on him… Theon groans inwardly. Why the fuck would he be so upset about that? Yes, Jon is his cousin, but being family doesn’t explain anything. Theon would happily sell any of his relatives to a dubious merchant, should the chance arise. Well, except his sister maybe. So what makes Jon different? 

Theon irritably adjusts Euron’s bow over his shoulder. Sure, Jon is a nice person, unlike the rest of the family. He’s pretty. And his smile is lovely. And he knows where the treasure is hidden. That last thought cheers Theon up somewhat. Finally something that makes sense. Robb got it wrong about Theon being jealous. What would he even be jealous about? He doesn’t want to kiss Jon at all – okay, he wants to do some other things to him that involve his mouth, but he’s definitely _not_ jealous. This is about gold and riches. Having come to that conclusion, Theon does feel better. Relieved, even. 

He turns to look at Robb and Jon, watching them slowly walk down the path. Robb is prattling on and on to Jon, who doesn’t look nearly as sulky as before. 

“Again, I’m so very sorry,” Theon hears Robb say. Theon knows he needs to apologize too, but right now a little distance from Jon seems in order anyway. Robb obviously doesn’t think so, though. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you, my princess,” he declares with a lot of woe in his voice. 

“You could start by calling me Jon,” Jon says, but he’s smiling, and Theon rolls his eyes. Holding grudges really isn’t Jon’s thing. 

“I’ll sing to you all day. I’ll carry you when you get tired. I’ll do _anything_ ,” Robb repeats stubbornly. 

Theon coughs. “That won’t be necessary, mate. We’re almost there.”

The tavern is right behind the next bend, and when they reach it Robb offers to go inside and ask for a chamber for the night. Theon and Jon wait for him outside. Jon doesn’t say anything, just keeps shuffling his feet and throwing Theon expectant glances which Theon ignores to his best ability. But Robb does take a great deal too long in there, and finally Jon clears his throat pointedly. Theon groans inwardly. There they go. 

“Anything to say?” Jon asks. “About what happened there?”

“Nothing at all.” Theon arranges his best derisive sneer on his face before turning to Jon. “No idea what you want to hear.”

“Maybe I’d like to know why you would start a fight with Robb instead of looking out for me like you promised.” 

“Same old song, eh?” Theon forces a laugh. “Look, cousin. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but the only thing I want is to hold up my side of the bargain. Which is getting you to Riverrun and back again. Then I’ll have my treasure and you’ll be rid of my sorry arse forever, okay?” The last part comes out way too bitter, so Theon quickly adds, “And since you insist on marching up on dragons and kissing pretty dragon riders instead of just fucking _waiting_ for me to do something… just see that you don’t get yourself killed one way or another, yeah? I really want that treasure.”

Jon flinches at that, looking so hurt Theon wants to backtrack immediately, but he keeps his mouth shut. They spend the rest of their wait in silence, and finally Robb reappears, with a wide grin on his face, waving at them. 

“Room’s above the stable, three beds. Dinner’ll be brought up. I got you a bath,” he says triumphantly to Jon. But when Jon only smiles weakly, Robb’s grin fades. “Are you alright?” he asks with a worried frown. 

“Just tired,” Jon says, and he sounds so defeated Theon can’t bear it anymore. Without another word he turns on his heels and marches through the tavern door. He needs a really big fucking drink. 

Unfortunately, the scarred barkeep is the same as last time, and even more unfortunately he seems to recognize Theon immediately. At first he doesn’t say anything, simply glaring at Theon until he produces his last two coins with a sigh, receiving a jug of ale and a plate of lemon cakes in return. Theon drinks in silence, trying to shake off that horrible feeling he doesn’t want to examine too closely. Regret, maybe. Not that he knows what he has to regret.

“So what’s the deal with you and the Crow’s Eye?” the barkeep asks gruffly when Theon shoves his empty tankard away, refilling it without asking for more coin. “You acted like a scared wench when he came in.” He huffs. “You lot all look alike. Brother?” 

“His nephew,” Theon says. Right now he doesn't give a flying fuck about Euron. “But we’re not really on good terms.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. You Greyjoys always have it out for each other.” 

After that they lapse into silence again, and Theon’s thoughts inevitably turn back to Jon. Lovely Jon, who hasn’t done anything wrong, who probably hasn’t done a bad thing in all his life. Would be hard to, locked up in a tower and all that. Theon knows he’s behaving like an arse. He can’t even say what it is that makes him all tied up in knots over some boy he’s known for just three days. Theon shrugs to himself. Maybe he’s just horny. He should see to that, find himself a lay or something of the sort. Maybe he’ll start feeling normal again. 

One thing he’s sure of: none of this is Jon’s fault. So Theon takes the plate of lemon cakes, intending to share them with Jon as a sort of peace offering. Before he can get up though, the barkeep clears his throat. 

“Wouldn’t mess with Euron, lad,” he says ominously. “You got enough problems as it is.” The man looks around, seeing if anyone is listening before carrying on in a low voice. “Day after you were here, some guys came looking for you, Bolton’s bastard among them. Asked if I’d seen you.”

Oh god. Theon grimaces, stomach lurching unpleasantly. Fucking Ramsay. Fucking Boltons. He really needs to get that treasure before _they_ get _him_. “What did you tell them?” he asks, fearing the answer.

“Nothing, you dumb cunt.” The barkeep snorts. “If I’d start ratting out my clientele I could close the business after a week. I’m just telling you to watch your back.”

With an astonished, mumbled, “Thanks,” Theon finally slips outside, making his way over to the stables. There’s a narrow staircase leading up to the attic and he climbs it, carefully balancing the plate in his hand. _Forget the fucking Boltons,_ he tells himself. Just for a bit. Tonight he’ll sleep in peace, after eating cakes with Jon. 

The door isn’t fully closed and Theon pushes it open, stopping in his tracks when he hears voices from behind a paravent standing in the middle of the room. Water splashes, and Theon remembers the bath Jon wanted. 

“You look so pretty like that it’s almost indecent. Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” Robb’s voice comes from behind the paravent, and Theon’s insides freeze. What the _fuck_ is he doing back there?

“I don’t mind you staying. Father likes to watch when I bathe, I’m used to it.” 

Fucking Euron, Theon thinks, a shudder running down his back at Jon’s words. Yes, Jon is pretty, but perving on one’s own son… that’s a new low, really, even for Euron.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Robb says, and for a moment Theon means to just walk around the damn paravent and ask him if he’s out of his mind. God, he hopes they’re not in the bath together or he’ll actually have to murder that bloody knight. 

“Thank you,” Jon says after a long moment, sounding way too relaxed for Theon’s peace of mind. “Would you mind helping me with this too?”

Robb just hums in agreement and Theon’s heart starts to beat faster when he hears the unmistakable sound of a comb being dragged through silky curls. The fucking bastard! His hand holding the plate is trembling, heart going too fast, head spinning. _Robb has his hands in Jon’s hair!_

“You’re so beautiful,” comes another whisper, followed by an all-too familiar silence, and suddenly Theon doesn’t care about looking like a pathetic, eavesdropping idiot anymore. He marches up to the paravent and around, making Jon and Robb surge apart, both red-faced and breathless. Theon wants to kill them both. Jon, leaning back in the tub with his hair a mess and his mouth swollen, and Robb, in shirtsleeves, with equally messy hair and a dazed look on his ridiculously handsome face. 

“Theon–” Jon starts, but Theon glares at him hard enough to shut him up. 

“I brought you lemon cakes,” he says acidly. “But it seems you aren’t hungry for _cakes_.” 

“Now, listen,” Robb tries, and Theon once again wants to fucking murder him. 

“No, _you_ listen, you bloody arsehole! He’s not even of age! Go and get your kicks from someone else if you can’t keep it in your pants for four more days!”

“Okay,” Robb says, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll go for a walk. Don’t kill each other.” 

And with that the door closes behind him and Theon finds himself alone with Jon, staring up at him from the bathtub, eyes shining suspiciously. He’s crossed his arms before his chest, resting them on his knees. He’s the picture of sad defeat, and Theon sighs heavily. 

“Look. I’m only saying this because you’ve never been out of that tower and I guess Euron hasn’t told you about the birds and the bees and–”

“Birds and bees?” Jon looks at Theon as if doubting his sanity. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When two people like each other…”

“Oh, that.” Jon shrugs as well as he can in his position. “Father did tell me the world is full of evil men who want to stick their dirty cocks in me.” 

At that, Theon is rendered speechless. So much for innocence. But… 

“If you know that, how can you throw yourself at the first guy you come across? Didn’t you want to find your true love? You won’t find it if you jump on the first cock you come across, for fuck’s sake!”

“I’m not jumping on any… Robb would never do anything to me! We just kissed! I like kissing him and he… I mean, he started it and it was nice and…” Jon trails off, looking as if he’s about to cry. “I don’t know why you’re so put out. It’s not as if I could… nevermind.”

Suddenly, Theon feels tired. Jon looks so lovely. He’s sad and vulnerable, all big eyes, pouting mouth and heated skin, and Theon just wants to say _fuck it_ , and take him to bed. He’s not one iota better than Robb. 

“Do what you want,” he says at length. His gaze falls on the comb lying on the edge of the tub, and Theon’s face contorts into a grimace. “Just don’t come crying to me ever again. For _anything_.” He gives the comb a push, not staying to watch as it slides into the water. 

***

There’s a solid roof over his head and a comfortable bed to sink into, yet Jon lies awake once again. No matter how he turns, the moment he closes his eyes Theon’s face appears in his mind, angry, mocking and something else Jon can’t name. Why is Theon so angry with him? 

Jon tugs the blanket over his head to block out Robb’s snores. He’d come back _very_ drunk and very loud, singing much cruder songs than the ones Jon has heard from him so far. Theon had already been asleep by then, back turned to the room, and Jon had pretended to be as well. He likes Robb, he really does. But in a way, Theon’s right. Jon knows he shouldn’t indulge in kissing, not before he’s found what he’s looking for, no matter how nice the kissing is. 

Jon frowns, a thought catching on the edge of his mind. It seemed the kissing had been what had bothered Theon. But why? He hasn’t made a single move to kiss Jon himself. Of course he hasn’t. They’re cousins, and for someone like Theon, who values his freedom, Jon must seem like a complete fool for letting himself be locked up. 

Not that it matters. He isn’t someone Jon can see himself being in love with. Not as long as he’s in his _profession_ in any case. So far Jon hasn’t witnessed Theon doing any actual thieving, but that’s only a matter of time. No, he could never be with a thief. 

Jon turns onto his back, groaning softly. Then why can’t he just let it go? Why is he so upset every time they’re at odds? Jon thinks he knows the answer to that. Theon’s the first person he ever talked to that wasn’t Father. It feels like there is something special between them because of that. 

A particularly loud snore from Robb has Jon sitting bolt upright, blanket falling from his body. This is ridiculous. He can spend the rest of the night lying awake and indulging in futile musings – or he can go over there, shake Theon awake and apologize for kissing Robb. Theon probably meant well anyway, like Father, looking to protect Jon’s virtue. 

Thus resolved, Jon slides out of his bed, carefully tiptoeing past Robb and up to Theon. He’s still lying in exactly the same position he fell asleep in, back to the room and curled up on himself. Jon kneels on the mattress behind Theon, hesitantly reaching out to tap his shoulder...and nearly falls off the bed when Theon turns around abruptly before Jon has touched him. 

“What,” he growls. Seems he hasn’t been sleeping after all. 

Jon can’t see Theon’s face in the darkness of the room, but he doesn’t sound exactly pleased about Jon’s visit, and Jon remembers Theon’s words to him earlier. 

“I’m not coming to cry about anything,” he whispers quickly. “I just wanted to apologize.”

For a moment there’s nothing but silence, but then Theon shifts again. “Whatever for?” he finally asks quietly, sounding as if he’s facing Jon now. 

“Uh...kissing Robb?” Jon reaches out blindly, hand coming to lie on something warm and soft. Theon’s chest, Jon realizes, and promptly his cheeks start to heat up. “I don’t even know why he did it again, what with me not being his true love. But I shouldn’t have let him. I’m sorry.”

“Drowned fuck.” Theon sounds strained, as if he’s in pain. “Do you have any idea what you look like? Of _course_ he kissed you, you idiot, true love or not.”

“Well… no?” Jon shrugs. “I don’t have a mirror in the tower. Father said it’s vain to spend all day gazing upon oneself.” 

“Says my uncle, the flash bastard,” Theon mutters, then sighs. “Alright, just so you know - but don’t let it go to your head - you’re the prettiest boy I‘ve ever met. Your eyes are beautiful. They’re big and dark and deep enough to drown in. Your mouth is pure temptation, and don’t even get me started on that bloody hair of yours.” There’s a pause, then Theon clears his throat. “You’re gorgeous, Jon. Everyone in their right mind would want to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Jon doesn’t know what else to say; he feels like he’s burning up on the inside. 

“And you sitting in that bath all flushed skin and damp curls… of course he kissed you. And if you wanted to kiss him back…” Theon sighs once more. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. I was an arse.”

“You were just looking out for me, I understand that.” Theon makes a strange noise at that, but Jon ignores it. “I don’t want to quarrel with you.” His voice sounds embarrassingly pleading, but after another moment Theon shifts again under Jon’s hand, edging away. 

“Lay down. Let’s see if we can get some sleep despite Ser Nightingale sounding like a wild boar over there.”

Relieved, Jon slumps down, and promptly a blanket is tossed over him. Jon rolls towards Theon, moving his hand until it is back where it was before. Theon hums, and one of his hands comes to rest on Jon’s hip. 

Jon closes his eyes and smiles as sleep settles over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. Tensions, tensions, tensions 😬


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dears, Sunday's here! And with it a very exciting (lol) new chapter^^

Waking up to an empty bed is seldomly nice, but waking up to an empty bed that _should_ contain Jon is a whole new level of horrifying. Especially when Theon looks around the room and doesn’t see Jon at all. Quelling his panic, he goes first to the still-snoring Robb to shake him awake none-too-gently. But before Theon can put this fabulous plan into action the door opens and Jon walks in, carefully balancing three steaming mugs in his hands. Upon seeing Theon he smiles, blushing a little. 

“Good morning,” he says, nearly going cross-eyed with the effort not to spill anything. 

Theon quickly takes two of the mugs before Jon can drop them all and scald himself. “Where have you been?” he asks, then remembers his manners. “Thank you. Tea?”

“Yeah. I… uh… needed a bit of fresh air when I woke up and…” Jon shrugs, cheeks reddening some more. “Anyway, I ran into Ser Clegane and–”

“Please tell me you didn’t kiss him,” Theon groans. 

“What? No, of course not.” Jon rolls his eyes. “He looked as if he would break my skull before I could come anywhere near enough. Not that I wanted to,” he adds. “But I did thank him for taking care of me that one time when Father got held up. He was actually very nice! He was the one who made the tea. No breakfast though. And he doesn’t like being called Ser.” 

“Never mind breakfast, I’ll shoot you a rabbit later,” Theon mumbles absentmindedly, setting one of the cups down on the frame of Robb’s bed. “So Clegane knows? That you’re out of the tower? I don’t know if that was a good idea, Jon.”

“It’s not as if there’s much that could happen.” Jon walks over to Theon’s bed, sitting down and sipping his tea, looking far too much at ease. “We’ll be gone soon and then we’ll be in Riverrun and back before anyone knows. There are only…” He grips his cup tighter. “My birthday is in four days. Then two more days for the journey back and everything will be over.”

He looks so demoralised Theon can’t not do anything about it, so he goes over, plucking the mug out of Jon’s hand and setting it down with his own. “Don’t be sad, hey?” he says, stroking a curl from Jon’s face, and with a sigh Jon leans into him. Theon wraps his arm around Jon’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t think about it. Right now you’re as free as can be.” Theon hesitates, then presses a small kiss on top of Jon’s head, inhaling the scent of his hair. Jon goes very still against him, but then he lifts his head and their eyes meet, and Theon finds he couldn’t look away if he wanted to. He leans closer, just a little…

“Mufffnnns,” Robb groans from his bed, and Jon casts his eyes down, turning away ever so slightly. “I think he’s waking up,” he says quietly, getting to his feet. “We can get going soon.”

***

After having rabbit for breakfast the rest of the day is spent walking, mostly in silence. Even Robb is a lot quieter than yesterday, to Theon’s relief. Maybe he’s just hungover, but maybe it also has to do with Jon walking beside Theon since they left the tavern. When they come out of the trees and onto the main road to Riverrun Jon stops, taking in the sight. Theon watches his face as he looks over the rich fields, bright and open and unlike anything Jon has ever known. He seems short for breath, eyes wide, and Theon can’t help but smile at his obvious awe. He looks down when something touches his hand, surprised to see that it’s Jon’s, slowly creeping into Theon’s. 

“I never imagined the world to be so big,” Jon finally says hoarsely. “All this land…”

If Jon is so struck by a few fields… Theon wonders what he’d make of the sea, of the endless horizon, without a single thing in sight but the water and the sky. He means to say it, _one day I’ll take you to the sea_ , but then reality sinks in and Theon involuntarily squeezes Jon’s hand. Jon will never see the sea. He’ll stay in his tower, alone, removed from the world. 

The thought hurts. A lot more than Theon would have guessed possible. Maybe he’ll visit Jon, when their journey is over and the Boltons have been paid off. Bring him seashells, play games with him, keep him company. It wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. 

“We need to be careful,” Robb says behind them, startling Theon out of his thoughts. He’d completely forgotten Robb was there. “Stay on the path. We shouldn’t go into the woods. There’s a lot of wild folk in these regions. They hide in the bushes and jump out and rob you blind before you know it. If you’re lucky,” Robb continues ominously. 

Theon rolls his eyes. Can’t be worse than having bloody Ramsay Bolton at his heels. Theon grimaces. He can only hope Ramsay’s left his pack of hounds at home or there’ll be no chance to outrun them. 

And just in this moment, as if he’s summoned them with his thoughts, a hound or wolf gives throat in the woods lining the path to one side of them. The sound sends shivers all down Theon’s spine. _Fuck!_ He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to alarm Jon, so Theon just grips Jon’s hand tighter, and like that they continue their way through the fields. 

It’s a sunny day, tranquil and peaceful. Birds are singing, a few fluffy clouds dotting the sky above them… and yet Theon can’t shake the feeling they’re being followed. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, but the only thing he ever sees is Robb, sour gaze fixed on Jon’s hand in Theon’s. That at least is gratifying, but it doesn’t really help Theon’s paranoia. It’s as if a shadow is creeping up on them, dangerous and invisible. But it’s only when Robb tries to start a conversation with Jon that Theon finally realizes. 

“Why do you want the whole thing to be done by your birthday?” Robb asks, quickening his pace until he walks next to Jon. “Is that some kind of magic deadline?”

“Well, no,” Jon says slowly. “But a lot of the people in the stories I read are sixteen. It seemed significant, in a way. Besides,” he adds thoughtfully, “Father isn’t away for a longer time very often.”

“And what if we get held up? What if something happens and you’re not home before your father comes back? Won’t he be terribly angry?”

“Disappointed, I would guess. And worried for my safety.” He sighs, shrugging. “At least he’ll know I haven't been kidnapped or anything once he reads my note.”

Theon’s blood freezes to ice; he drops Jon’s hand like it’s poisonous all of a sudden. “Your _what??_ ” 

Jon looks back at him incredulously. “I left a note. As in, should you come back and I’m not here, don’t worry, I’m with Theon?”

“Oh god.” Theon groans, slapping his palm against his face. “Why the _fuck_ would you do that??”

“It’s the decent thing to do!” Jon is getting riled up, face reddening as he starts to get louder too. “He’d be worried out of his mind if he were to find the tower empty and not a single word–”

“He’s going to fucking kill me!” Theon yells at Jon, right in his indignant face. “God, you don’t get it, do you? That’s not a loving father you have there! He’s a psychopath of the worst sort! He’s going to – fuck, Jon! How can you be so _fucking stupid?_ ”

Jon pales, stumbling back a step. “I’m not–”

“Yes you are,” Theon scoffs. “I mean, I expected a little slowness after how you’ve been raised, but it seems you’re lacking even the most basic common sense.”

“Hey, now…” Robb steps up to them, hands raised. “It’s not Jon’s fault. You can’t blame him for not knowing everything you or I do. I’m sure he’ll–”

“Learn? Bloody likely. He’s dumb enough he’s planning to go back to daddy like a good little idiot when this is done. Not that _I’ll_ be around to see that,” he continues bitterly. “I’m going to be fucking dead by then.”

A shudder goes through Jon at that, his eyes welling up with tears. His hands are balled to fists, mouth pulled down, and with a choked, harsh sound he takes off, running towards the edge of the forest and slipping between the trees. Theon watches him go, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, but the anger still overrules anything else. He’s practically shaking with it, and with fear. Fuck this… Euron could be on their track this very moment, already planning ways to kill Theon as slowly and painfully as possible. He can’t concern himself with Jon’s fragile sensibilities right now. 

“We should go after him,” Robb says into the silence. “Something could happen to him.”

“See if I care,” Theon grumbles, and then he cries out in shock when Robb’s flat hand hits him sharply over the head. “Ow! What was that for, you bloody prick?”

“Come off it.” Robb frowns at Theon impressively. “You can fool yourself, you can fool Jon, but not me. If something happens to him, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Theon doesn’t reply immediately. Robb is a fucking idiot too, thinking he knows Theon. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, _he doesn’t care._ “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Theon says finally, but somehow his gaze is already searching the treeline where Jon has vanished. 

***

The forest around him is a blur of greens and browns as Jon stumbles through trees and bushes, heedless of where he’s actually going. Theon’s words circle in his head, the things he’d said… _expected a little slowness… lacking even the most basic common sense… dumb enough… little idiot…_ Jon swallows a cry, stumbling over a root, another, barely able to stay upright. He’s not stupid. He’s _not_ stupid! It was the right thing to do. What does a thief even know of right or wrong? And Father, how can Father be a psychopath? He cares for Jon, so much so he’d rather lock him up than see him harmed. 

No, Jon thinks angrily, Theon doesn’t know _anything_ and fuck him to hell and back! He doesn’t care for Jon one bit, saying all those horrible things and not even coming after him… Robb isn’t coming either, so maybe all his flowery words were nothing but lies after all. 

Just then Jon hears something behind him and he turns his head. _Maybe they’re coming, maybe they do care after all_ … but then something smacks into him hard. He grunts and twists, trying to see what he’s run into when suddenly two hands grip his arms like a vice and a voice beside him cackles loudly. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Jon’s head is ripped back harshly. He cries out, and then a man he doesn’t know comes into view. Jon stares at him, unsure what to do. The man has a rough, ugly face, long black hair, cold blue eyes and very pink lips. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t look nice at all. Jon tries to move, but the person behind him is still holding his arms behind his back, is still gripping Jon’s hair tightly. 

The ugly man reaches out, tilting Jon’s chin up. “What’s a pretty boy like you doing all alone in these dangerous woods, eh? Where are your companions?”

 _Lie_ , Jon thinks, but when he racks his brain nothing comes to mind. Lying is wrong, a bad thing to do. Sure, Jon has lied before, mostly by withholding things and only telling part of the truth, but outright saying things that aren’t true… 

“I don’t know,” he finally says, to garner some time. It’s true enough, anyway. He doesn’t know for sure where Theon and Robb are right now. Certainly not with him. The thought is enough to make Jon’s eyes well up. 

The blue-eyed man tilts his head curiously. “Naw, tears? You look even prettier when you cry. I wonder how pretty you look when you _scream?_ ”

Jon’s arm is twisted cruelly behind his back and he cries out at the wrenching pain. The ugly man’s eyes are sparkling in delight, and without warning he snatches Jon’s doublet and descends on him like a vulture. Jon’s shocked cry is swallowed by the horrible lips, a wet, sloppy tongue is pushed into his mouth until Jon nearly chokes. His whole body stiffens in horror. He doesn’t want this, what if this man is the one... but there’s no spark, nothing but a wave of disgust when the man pulls back with a snigger. 

“Tasty,” he says, leering. “Put him in irons, Locke., I intend to keep this one around for a while.”

“You can’t keep me,” Jon shouts while yet another man puts shackles around his wrists, held together by a short iron chain. “Theon and Robb will find me and they’ll–”

“Theon??” The ugly man turns to Jon as fast as lightning, gripping his arm. “You’re with _Theon Greyjoy?_ ”

Jon bites his lip. The man’s eyes are glittering with mirth. Hee seems overjoyed for some reason, and then it dawns on Jon. “You’re the men he mentioned! The ones that are after him!”

“Ramsay Bolton, at your service.” Ramsay Bolton makes a deep bow, grinning nastily when Jon flinches back. “Oh, this is too perfect. Are you his sweetheart? Yes, you must be. He’s got good taste, I’ll give him that.” Ramsay rubs his hands together, laughing in obvious delight. “And you think he’ll come to save you, the coward? Oh, you precious fool… Maybe I can make a deal with the craven cunt though, see if he won’t leave you to me as a downpayment on his debts to my father, eh? I’m sure he’d–”

Ramsay stops mid-word, looking down onto himself in bewilderment – where an arrow is sticking out of his chest, quivering. 

“Think again, Bolton,” Theon says as he steps out of the trees, bow drawn, ready to shoot again. 

The man holding Jon is gone all of a sudden, and the one called Locke raises his hands. Ramsay only lurches, his mouth opening and closing. Jon turns around, a smile breaking out on his face when he sees them, Robb with his sword at the throat of the third man; and Theon, grinning grimly as he aims his arrow at Ramsay. 

“Consider that a warning, Bolton,” Theon says. “I’m going to pay back what I took from your father, and not a coin more. And Jon is worth more than that by far!” He nods his head at Robb who gives the man he’s holding captive a punch in the back that makes him stumble forward. “Now piss off, and give my warmest greetings to Roose,” Theon adds. “If I see your ugly face again I might not miss your heart the next time, eh?”

Ramsay peels his lips back in a wordless snarl that turns into a cough, and finally he nods at his men. “Peace, Greyjoy,” he says, sounding pained. “For now, anyway. This is not over by far.”

“I’m counting on that,” Theon says lightly, relaxing and letting his bow sink when Ramsay and his companions turn to go. He smiles at Jon, winking cockily. “How was that for a rescue now, cousin? Do you feel sufficiently–”

A shout rings out as Locke whips out a dagger, aiming to throw it at Theon. Jon opens his mouth but the scream dies in his throat, he watches Theon spinning around, too slow, eyes widening. But the knife doesn’t leave Locke’s hand. He arches with a gargled sound, and now Jon does scream when he sees the bloody arrowhead sticking out from Locke’s neck. Ramsay and the other man seem paralysed, but after a moment they speed off through the trees, leaving their fallen friend behind.

“Wha’ on _earth_ are yeh makin’ such a ruckus for?”

Jon swivels around, just in time to see a young woman melting out of the shadows, a bow over her shoulder, her arms akimbo. 

“Yeh’re chasin’ away me dinner,” she adds accusingly.

Jon stares at her, and just like that he can’t anymore. He slumps to the forest floor, ready to tell them, fuck this and please someone take him back to his tower and cut off the damn rope. He’s so, so, _so_ done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬😬😬😬


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning *yawn* I still feel like someone's run me over with a tank but oh well, better than being kissed by Ramsay Bolton I guess ^^

In the end Robb has to heft Jon to his feet. He’s apparently in shock or something, refusing to say a word, only blindly staring into nothing. Theon is worried out of his mind, but when he wants to take Jon’s arm he flinches back, not even looking at Theon. Instead he keeps close to Robb’s side as they follow the wildling into the woods. After taking a long, scrutinizing look at Jon’s white face, she’d heaved a sigh and invited them to her camp for the night. Theon is grateful for that, and for the arrow that saved him from getting a knife thrown at him. 

She throws a curious glance over her shoulder and slows down until she’s walking beside Theon. “What’s up with the pretty boy?” she asks, nodding her chin in Jon’s direction. “Don’t seem the type to faint over a bit o’ blood to me.”

“Wasn’t the blood, I reckon,” Theon mutters. More like, seeing someone killed in front of his eyes. Seeing how some parts of the stories Euron had told him are indeed true, about people being evil. Theon sighs, feeling worse by the second. It’s only Jon’s third day out in the world and already he’s been almost kidnapped. Who knows what Ramsay would have done to him, hadn’t Robb and Theon found them so fast. Who knows what Ramsay _has_ done to Jon. 

His wrists are still shackled, the chain joining the shackles rattling with every step Jon takes. They don’t have any tools to get it off, so this must wait until they reach Riverrun on the morrow. If Jon even wants to go on. His face is as pale as a ghost’s, eyes wide and terrified. Theon nearly groans out loud when the longing to go to Jon mounts into the unbearable. He needs to get his hands on him, see if he’s hurt, see if Ramsay has done anything to him. But Jon had shied away from him. 

Theon doesn’t know why. Maybe Jon’s angry with him, for not getting there sooner. Maybe he’s still hurt from the things Theon had said to him in his sudden outburst. Theon sighs, shoulders sagging. He needs to apologize. Again. And can only hope Jon will forgive him. _Again._ Of course he hadn’t meant it like that, any of it. Jon isn’t stupid. Just… dangerously naive. Which isn’t his fault. He’s already learning… A part of Theon doesn’t want that, doesn’t want Jon to lose his innocence, his faith in his Father. But it’s inevitable. Euron is a madman, and one day Jon will see the truth of it. 

When they reach the camp the wildling throws her satchel to the ground, and at the speed of light she’s got a fire going and starts on setting up a tent. Theon helps her, unable to stop throwing Jon worried glances. He’s sitting down by the fire, staring into the flames as if hypnotised by them. Robb comes to join Theon when he’s made sure Jon doesn’t need anything. He takes up a twig, poking Theon in the ribs. 

“You should talk to him,” he says, somber for a change. “He’s completely out of it.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me,” Theon retorts, trying not to sound too bitter. “I’m sure your company is more agreeable to him right now.”

“You’re the greatest idiot I’ve ever met.” Robb shakes his head. “He saw you nearly getting killed, man. Now go and fucking talk to him before I make you. Fuck off, I’ll help… uh…”

“Ygritte,” the wildling says. 

“Pleasure.” Robb grins at her before putting his stern face back on for Theon. “Why are you _still here?_ ”

“Make me, my arse,” Theon mutters, but Robb does look like he means it, so he shrugs, slowly trudging over to the fire. Jon doesn’t look up when Theon sits down next to him, but he does edge away a little. Theon sighs. “Listen, Jon… I’m sorry, okay? For what I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just…” He swallows, but there’s really no way around it. “I was scared. I know things about Euron… I’m sorry, Jon. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

“Maybe I am.” Jon sounds sad, resigned. “Else I wouldn’t give so much on some thief’s opinion.”

Some thief… that stings. But after the things Theon had said to Jon it’s very much deserved. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he says. “But could you please tell me you’re alright – did Ramsay do anything to you?”

“Kissed me is all,” Jon mutters, shuddering. At that Theon nearly jumps up, disgust and rage making him want to go back, find Ramsay, and kill him after all. His intent must be plain on his face, for Jon hurries to assure Theon he’s not hurt. He glances at Theon quickly. “Are you – you’re not hurt?”

“What? God, no. That wildling woman has an impeccable aim.” Theon grins weakly. “But I have to confess, for a moment there I thought my last hour has come. If it hadn’t been for Ygr–”

He doesn’t get any further than that. Jon makes a strangled sound, and suddenly Theon finds his arms quite full of him, shackles and all. For a moment Theon isn’t sure what to do, but then he wraps his arms around Jon, holding him close as Jon cries against Theon’s neck. 

“I – thought – you – would – die,” Jon sobs, almost crawling into Theon’s lap, clinging to him with all his might. “I thought – he’d – get – you!” 

“Hey,” Theon says into Jon’s ear. “I’m okay, really. I’m here. Nothing happened, I’m not going anywhere.”

Jon slowly quiets down, moving back a fraction, but he doesn’t let go. “Theon…” he whispers, and then his expression changes. His wet lashes are sticking together and framing his lovely eyes, and Theon’s gaze drops to Jon’s mouth, full and _so near_ … To think Ramsay has… best not to think of that. Theon shakes his head, moving forward, just a tiny bit… “I’m tired,” Jon says suddenly, slowly lifting his arms over Theon’s head. He gets to his feet awkwardly, waiting for Theon to do the same before he yawns. “Are you… could you come later to… you know.”

“Sure,” Theon says, feeling utterly confused. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a bit, hm? I’ll see if I can find something to eat.”

“You’ll be here when I wake up, yes?” Jon asks, reaching out and taking Theon’s hand. 

“Of course,” Theon says, squeezing Jon’s fingers. “I’ll be here.”

***

Jon carefully puts on a show of yawning and eye-rubbing until he’s safely inside the woman’s tent. Only when he can’t hear Theon’s voice anymore does he come out again, ignoring the woman’s curious glance and settling back down at the fire. Robb is nowhere to be seen either, and Jon’s glad to have some time to himself. 

He isn’t tired at all, not really, feeling more riled up than anything else. But while Jon wants nothing more than cling to Theon after what has happened – it isn’t really a good idea. 

The woman joins him after a moment, sitting down on a flat rock beside Jon and poking at a large log in the fire. He glances at her from the corner of his eyes. Her hair is bright red, as vivid as the flames, and her face is very pretty, dotted with tiny freckles. A wildling… Jon doesn’t know what a wildling is, but there’s something about her that makes him feel comfortable. 

“What yeh starin’ at, pretty boy?” she asks out of the blue. Jon flinches visibly, making her laugh. “Don’t yeh worry,” she adds. “I won’t eat yeh, though I hope yer lover comes back soon with me dinner.” 

“He’s not my lover,” Jon says, blushing at the thought. “He’s my cousin, and he’s helping me.” 

“Cousin, eh? Naught wrong with that.” She laughs again, causing Jon’s blush to deepen. “Are yeh sure yeh’re no’ lovers? Yeh seemed ter be an inch short of climbin’ into his skin.” The woman grins at Jon’s obvious embarrassment. “What’s yer name, pretty boy? I’m Ygritte of the Free Folk.”

“Jon of the… of the tower, I guess,” Jon says, awkwardly taking her hand when she offers it, making his chain rattle. “Sorry about that. You wouldn’t know how to get it off by chance?”

“Nope. Left ‘em tools in me castle,” she says with a grin. “So, what’s yer story then, Jon of the Tower?” 

“That’s a long one, I fear.”

“We got time. Yer lover – sorry, yer _cousin_ – is off hunting and yer other mate has gone ter take a shit, I think.”

At that Jon is sure he’s turned crimson, so he quickly launches into his tale. He tells her everything, of how he grew up, of Father’s rules, of the tower, of his first time out of said tower, of how Robb had joined them, the journey they had had so far, dragons and innkeeps and Boltons… Ygritte listens, eyes widening more with every word Jon says. She doesn’t interrupt him once, only gasping and whistling in the appropriate moments. It’s very gratifying, having someone hanging onto his lips like that, and Jon can’t help but preen a little once he’s finished. 

“Yer true love… that’s so romantic,” Ygritte finally sighs. “Not that I’m a romantic person, mind, but it does sound lovely, this true love’s kiss. And yeh’ve kissed, what, three people so far?” 

“Yep,” Jon confirms with a nod. “Robb and Dany the dragon rider and that disgusting Ramsay character. Robb was very good, Dany was… kind of awkward? And that filthy Bolton was outright nauseating.”

“So yeh haven’t kissed yer cousin, then,” Ygritte muses, giving Jon a shrewd glance. “How do yeh know it isn’t him if yeh don’t try?”

“It can’t be.” Jon shrugs. “He doesn’t even believe in love, I think.”

“Yeh could at least _try_ ,” Ygritte insists. “Yeh have ter try everything at least once.”

“That’s not a good idea.” Jon lets his head sink, miserably rattling his chain. “Swear you won’t tell him? Or Robb?”

“Cross me heart and hope ter die.”

“I think I already like him way too much,” Jon whispers, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one’s creeping up on them to listen. “My heart beats faster when he touches me. And I want him to touch me all the time, it makes my stomach feel all fluttery and… it’s not possible, okay?” Jon sniffs sadly. “He’s my cousin and Father doesn’t like him, judging from the way he talks about him. He’s a thief. He doesn’t like me like that.”

“Yeh sure ‘bout that?” Ygritte sounds sceptical. “He wouldn’t let yeh out of sight for a single second.”

“That’s because he thinks I know where the treasure he wants is hidden at,” Jon explains defeatedly. “Not because he likes me, never mind anything else. I mean, he thinks I’m pretty, but that still doesn’t mean–”

“Yeh’re _very_ pretty,” Ygritte says, eyes glittering adventurously, and Jon doesn’t even have a moment to feel alarmed or surprised before she snatches his cloak and pulls him in. And then he doesn’t _want_ to protest – it is simply too marvellous.

Her lips are soft, moving against Jon’s with a silky glide that sends shivers all over his spine. He feels himself move towards her with his whole body, can feel her arms wrapping around his shoulders as the kiss deepens. It feels so good, better than with Robb, a thousand times better than with Dany, and Jon can feel certain parts of him stirring to life as the kiss goes on and on. 

Jon has no idea how it happened but suddenly Ygritte is sitting in his lap, moving against him in a way that nearly scares him to death – and yet he wouldn’t stop for anything in the world. His heart is pounding in his ears, his… Jon moans, unable to form a clear though. He’s hard, achingly so, and suddenly she moves against him once more and Jon stiffens, breaking away and crying out in surprise when he feels his thing pulse and – oh god. 

He tries to move away until Ygritte gets the hint, climbing off him with the widest grin imaginable. “Had a little oops-a-daisy, eh?” she teases, though there’s no meanness in her voice, and so Jon only blushes instead of dying on the spot. Ygritte winks at him. “Seems yeh liked it.” 

There’s absolutely no point in denying that, so Jon simply nods. “You’re not my true love,” he says after a moment of gathering his thoughts. “But I think I’ll have to marry you now.”

At that Ygritte snorts, then chuckles, until she’s bent over in an onslaught of laughter. “Yeh’re too cute,” she finally wheezes. “Tell yeh what, if yeh don’t find yer true love, come back here and I’ll show yeh the free way of life. No marriage needed ter have some fun.”

It does sound tempting… but in the end Jon knows he never will. Not as long as Father lives. Not as long as there’s any chance of seeing Theon again once Jon is back in his tower. Even if it turns out to be a futile hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Jon is more in tune with his feelings than Theon (who's still firmly in denial).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once AGAIN I apologize for being a day late -.-  
> I can only say sorry, my mind was so occupied with all the government stuff yesterday telling us what we can't do anymore etc.  
> But! Here it is, and I very much hope you enjoy it.

Jon is strangely distant, had already been last night when Theon had returned to the camp with two rabbits and a duck. He’d found Jon holed up in Ygritte’s tent, wrapped in a blanket and looking like a very pretty caterpillar, and his breeches incomprehensibly wet and hanging on a branch outside. He hadn’t said much, had refused to eat anything or go outside again, but when Theon had laid down beside him upon retiring, Jon had snuggled close to him. Now he’s walking silently, not really reacting to anything Theon says to him. 

Robb is silent too, also since the last evening, and Theon would suspect him to have made another move on Jon if he wouldn’t look so put out. The only sound accompanying their journey is the clanking of Jon’s chain, something they need to get rid of as fast as possible. There’s a smith Robb says he knows in the market town of Riverrun, which they will reach in just one more hour. Said hour passes as silently as the rest of the way, and finally the walls of Riverrun come into sight. Jon stops, eyes wide as saucers as he stares at the walled castle, at the guards posted to both sides of the let-down drawbridge. 

“Will they let us in?” he asks nervously. 

“Oh, puh-lease.” Robb confidently takes the lead, marching straight onto the bridge. Theon watches him talk and gesticulate, and soon the guards nod in unison and Robb turns around, waving Theon and Jon forward. They walk slowly, past the guards’ suspicious gazes. No wonder, really, what with Jon still being in shackles and Theon… well, he’s used to looking shifty to the law-abiding part of the population. 

Once inside, Jon suddenly keeps very close to Theon’s side. The town is bustling with the usual everyday trading, merchants loudly advertising their goods, people bickering over the prices, women chatting, children running about and a bard crowing over the noise of it all. Theon looks down on Jon, curious to see what he makes of all of this, and chuckles when he takes in his face. Jon’s eyes are perfectly round, flitting from left to right, his mouth forming a little o as he tries to see everything at once. He must be completely overwhelmed by the sheer mass of people, by the cacophony of sounds, by the many new and different smells, and Theon lays his arm around Jon’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. 

“Too much?” he asks when Jon shudders delicately, receiving a mix of a nod and a shake of the head in return. Theon grins, rubbing Jon’s arm. “Let’s get these irons of you, cousin, and then we can plunge into town life and look for your true love.”

“I’ll show you to Gendry’s workshop,” Robb pipes up, looking from Jon to Theon and back with furrowed brows. “He’s an old friend, we used to play together as kids whenever I visited my grandpa here.”

“Where does your grandpa live?” Theon asks. “Can we stay over at his place?”

“I surely can,” Robb says with a strange glimmer in his eyes. And I bet if I take him, Jon can as well. As for you…” He gives Theon a smug look, pursing his lips. “He lives over there.”

Theon follows his gaze, but there’s nothing to see where Robb is looking at, except the holdfast. What the… Theon frowns when Robb’s look gets even more smug, and then the penny drops. 

“Lord Tully is your _grandfather?”_

“Aye, that’s my gramps. Lovely old guy.” Robb grins triumphantly. “I doubt he’d want to host a common thief, though.”

“Whatever.” Theon shrugs, not caring to mention the fact that he hasn’t done any thieving at all since he’s met Jon. “I’ll get a room at the inn then. And forget about taking Jon with you, mate. I’ll not let my treasure out of sight for another moment.” 

Jon sighs dejectedly beside Theon and both he and Robb turn to look at him. Theon loosens his hold, taking a step back. “What’s it gonna be, darling? Castle with Robb or inn with me?”

Jon shuffles his feet, rattling his chain. Finally he glances up – at Robb. “Inn,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, Robb, but…”

“That’s fine.” Robb’s smile is broad and false and balm on Theon’s heart. “Come on, let’s go get you unchained.”

The smithy isn’t that hard to find, the clanging of metal against metal giving away its place soon enough when they make their way across the market square. When they come closer Robb goes ahead, walking straight up to a young, heavily muscled guy swinging a hammer against a rod of red-glowing steel. At Robb’s cry of hello he dunks it in a bucket of water, looking up, and starts grinning all over his soot-streaked face. 

“Stark!” he crows, and then they’re hugging each other among a lot of shouting and back-clapping, both chattering perpetually until Theon wants to cover his ears. To his side Jon is looking around the smithy curiously, eyeing a long row of swords mounted to one of the walls with interest. He takes a step, another, until he’s standing in front of them. Theon halfway expects him to take one, but then Jon slowly slinks back, sighing a little. 

“I wonder what one of those might cost,” he says reverently. “They’re so beautiful!”

“I thank you,” the smith named Gendry says, having surfaced from Robb’s embrace. He’s smiling at Jon, teeth very white in his dark face. “Are you interested in purchasing one? I could also custom make one for you if you don’t like any of those.”

“God, no.” Jon smiles, seeming embarrassedly. “That would be wonderful, but I couldn’t afford it.”

“Actually,” Theon meddles, suspiciously watching the smith gazing at Jon with approval, “we just wanted to ask if you can get this off.” He takes Jon’s arm, lifting it and making the chain clank. “No further services required, thank you.”

“Sure thing,” Gendry says, his very blue eyes crinkling amusedly as he returns Theon’s gaze. “How did that happen?”

At first Jon doesn’t say much, but after some prompting he tells most of the story, including his quest and their adventures so far. Gendry listens avidly while working away at Jon’s wrists. Finally he manages to get the shackles off and Jon breathes out in relief, rubbing his chafed wrists. He needs salve for those, Theon thinks absently, just as the damn smith gets to his feet – only to return with exactly that! Theon looks on grumpily as Gendry gently treats Jon’s skin. Robb by his side is wearing a similar expression, looking so jealous Theon can’t repress a grin, despite absolutely getting the notion. 

“Wow,” the smith says when he’s done, grinning warmly at a blushing Jon. “That’s quite the tale, huh? So you’re still looking for your true love?” 

“Yeah, I guess…” Jon shrugs. “I’m actually a little tired of all the kissing and stuff. Now that I’m here… there are so many people. I can’t possibly go kissing them all. It was foolish of me to think it would be as easy as walking into a random town and just… I dunno… stumbling over the right person.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to try with me,” Gendry says. 

Theon and Robb bristle in unison, but before either of them can say something, Jon shakes his head. “Thank you,” he says. “But at the moment I’m not really in the mood.” 

“You know where to find me, should you change your mind. Are you staying with Robb?”

“At the inn,” Jon answers, cheeks reddening again as he quickly glances at Theon. The smith follows Jon’s gaze, one eyebrow climbing up when Theon smiles grimly. Jon gets up, indicating his hands. “What do I owe you for this?”

“Nevermind,” Gendry says, giving Theon a shrewd look. “Just promise you’ll think of me, should you continue your search.”

“Er...sure,” Jon says confusedly while Theon grits his teeth. Bloody blue-eyed, broad-shouldered–

“We need to get going,” he says stiffly, holding out his hand to Jon. “I have some things to do, and I’m sure Jon wants to see more of the town.”

“Yeah, we could–” Robb starts, but Theon shushes him. 

“ _You_ need to go see your grandfather,” he tells him. “You know where to find Jon _and me. Tomorrow.”_

***

“So, what do you want to do?” Theon asks once Robb has reluctantly taken his leave and they are in the market square again. 

Jon shrugs, not having the slightest idea. What do people in a town do all day? It’s all a little overwhelming, the noise, the constant shuffling of the crowd all around them… A part of Jon wants to check out the market, while a different part longs for the peace and quiet of a nice room of his own. Silently, Jon curses himself. All his life he’s dreamed of being out in the world, of being among people, and now it gets too much after not even an hour in a real town! Pathetic, really. 

“Didn’t you say you have things to do?” he asks Theon, hoping to buy himself some time. 

“Already settled.” Theon grins, producing a bulging satchel from his pocket. It chinks merrily as he shakes it. 

“Is that…” Jon takes a step back, stomach clenching as he understands. “You stole that!”

“It’s what I do.” Theon frowns, putting the purse away again. “You knew that, Jon. Otherwise no inn, no bed, no food. I took it from a rich man,” he adds, as if that makes anything better. His eyes look at Jon pleadingly, and somehow Jon can’t be really mad at him. 

“I still don’t like it,” he says firmly, but then he smiles. “Is it… did you get enough for a bath?”

Theon laughs in relief, and a small, secret part of Jon melts at the sound. How he’ll miss that… Tomorrow is his birthday, and no true love has shown themselves to Jon. Maybe… Jon sighs, making an effort to pull himself together. He’s not ready yet, to give up on his dream. But for now… 

“Let’s seek out this inn then,” he decides. “I feel dirty after all those Boltons and the night in the forest and… and…” Jon feels heat rising in his cheeks at the thought of what happened with Ygritte. “Bath,” he finishes lamely. 

Half an hour later Jon sinks into the hot water with a happy groan. This is the thing he misses most about his tower: the possibility to bathe whenever he feels like it. Father always lugs as much water up the rope as Jon can use, without a word of complaint. Lately he’s taken to staying on while Jon bathes, helping him with soaping his back and washing his hair and keeping Jon company. Jon leans back, splashing the water around. Theon said he had other business to attend to, so now Jon is all alone – and wishing he wasn’t. 

Unbidden, Ygritte appears before his eyes, the things she’d done, the things she’d _said…_ the things she’d said about Theon. And it’s not her, it’s Theon who smiles in Jon’s mind when his hand finds his hardness, it’s Theon he imagines with him, only the roles are reversed and it’s Jon in _Theon’s_ lap… heat rising in his belly Jon bites his lip, writhes, feels guilty for doing such a thing behind Theon’s back, unable to stop… with a gasp Jon stiffens, spilling into the water. 

The water is already cooling when Theon comes back, hesitating for a moment before he steps closer, taking the sheet Jon has laid aside and holding it out to him. Jon is sure his face must be turning purple as he climbs out of the tub and wraps the towel around his body. 

“Are you hungry?” Theon asks. “I got mutton, bread, some cheese and a fruitcake.” Jon nods, eating and listening to Theon’s tales of the market. “I can show you around tomorrow, if you like. Before…” Theon shrugs uncomfortably. “You know.”

Aye, Jon knows, but right now he really doesn’t want to think of anything but the present moment. He suppresses a yawn, reluctantly angling for his dirty clothes when Theon coughs, smiling his handsome, arrogant smile when Jon looks at him questioningly. 

“I got you some new stuff,” he says, pulling forward a bag Jon hasn’t noticed and throwing it at him. 

Jon opens it, not quite knowing what to expect – and gasps when he pulls out a brand-new, black wool tunic with silver embroidery on the hems. It’s amazingly soft to the touch, and Jon can’t help himself, rubbing it against his cheek with an appreciative hum. And that’s not all there is. Next he discovers soft deerskin breeches, and beneath these a warm, heavy cloak with a silver clasp. 

“Theon…” Jon doesn’t know what to say, silently staring down on his new attire. Finally he swallows. “This is… I mean…”

“Shut up,” Theon says gruffly. “Your old clothes are starting to reek. But you can do me a favour and lend me the new cloak for the night. Going to be cold.”

“Are you going out again?” Jon doesn’t like that thought at all, and to his relief Theon shakes his head. 

“No, but there’s only one bed. And one blanket. I’m way tougher than you are, so I’ll take the floor and the cloak.”

“Oh.” Jon frowns, looking down on his hands clenching around the new cloak. “I thought… I mean, it’s a big bed…” He takes a deep breath. “You can sleep there too if you want.”

“Hm.” 

Theon doesn’t say anything else to that, instead listing all the amusements they’ll attend on the morrow. Apparently there’s some kind of town fête, with music and dancing and a whole roasted ox. At long last Jon can’t stop the yawns anymore, and finally Theon smiles. 

“Time to go to bed, I think. Looking at you makes my jaw smart.” 

“Aye,” Jon says, getting up from the table. “You coming?”

Theon chuckles, but when Jon is settled in bed, clad with a new long undershirt, he can hear clothes rustling, and then the straw mattress dips when Theon climbs into bed behind him, laying on the outermost edge. Jon scoffs, turning and grabbing Theon’s arm, dragging it across his own torso. For a moment Theon lies completely still, but then he chuckles, edging closer, his warm breath tickling the hair at Jon’s nape. It’s good, having him so near, and when Jon feels soft lips graze his skin he shivers, pressing back against Theon. Theon’s hand wanders from Jon’s chest to his stomach, stroking so gently, and a part of Jon is disappointed when it stays there and doesn’t wander lower. 

“Good night, Jon,” Theon whispers. “Important day tomorrow.”

His birthday. But somehow it seems as if his wish isn’t that important anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys heard of the lockdown fest? It's happening soon, and it's for all fandoms, with the theme of Trapped Together. Doesn't have to be the current reason, could also be locked in an elevator etc. I'm thinking of doing a one-shot for that – would anyone be interested? Taking prompts, too :) 
> 
> Hope you all are doing okay!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! 
> 
> I do hope you're all doing ok. Are you on lockdown too? I'm so distracted, I can't seem to do anything but wallow on my couch atm -.- 
> 
> Please excuse any typos or grammar errors, I'm beta-less at the moment and my exhausted brain keeps forgetting I speak English X(

Theon blinks sleepily at the mess of tangled curls right before his nose. Waking up with Jon in his bed is a lovely way to start the day. He’s still out cold, and after a moment of warring with himself Theon decides, fuck it. He leans forward, burying his face in the soft hair and inhaling deeply, wrapping his arm tighter around Jon. Jon mumbles, wriggling a little, but he doesn’t wake up, and Theon closes his eyes again. Naught like a nice lay-in with a lovely bed companion… With that thought he dozes off, vague fragments of images flitting through his mind. It’s definitely something he could get used to, so comfortable, so peaceful… 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESS!!”

Theon surges up with a curse, biting his lip when Jon’s foot kicks his shin and Jon jumps out of bed, seeming ready for a fight. Theon takes one look at him in his nightshirt and with his hair looking like a chicken’s nest, and breaks into laughter. Jon, having identified the supposed threat as Robb, lets his fists sink, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry,” he says to Robb. “You woke me up.”

“And me,” Theon grouses, trying to suppress another chuckle as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his mistreated shin. “What the fuck, nightingale… Couldn’t you have knocked?”

“Beg your pardon,” Robb says stiffly. He’s holding something that looks like a cake with a candle sticking out of the middle, his face rapidly clouding. “I didn’t know I’d _interrupt_ something–”

“You didn’t,” Jon says quickly, glancing at Theon before looking back at Robb with a wobbly smile. “Good morning. Thank you for the birthday wishes.”

“What’s that?” Theon nods at the cake thing Robb is carrying. “Are you bringing us breakfast? You shouldn’t have.” He can afford a little smugness, Theon thinks, seeing that Jon has been in _his_ bed, not Robb’s. 

“A birthday cake. Of course you wouldn’t know it, it’s a very modern invention.”

“Cut it out, you two!” Jon gives them both a stern glare before taking the cake out of Robb’s hands. “It’s my birthday and I want us all to get along. It’s a long journey back to…” He swallows. “We should get going.”

“You’re not giving up, are you?” Robb asks worriedly. “You haven’t kissed anyone here, your true love could be right around the corner. Why not try again?”

“We should at least stay one more day,” Theon adds. “There’s the fête today… we could have some fun today, celebrate your birthday. And tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow you’ll take me home,” Jon finishes, a smile slowly spreading on his face. “That does sound lovely. I’ve never been to a fête before.”

“Haven’t you now.” Theon rolls his eyes as he gets up, but he does pull Jon close and presses a small kiss to his head, causing Jon to blush and Robb to scowl. “You’ll like it. Drinking, dancing… hey, we could rent a stall for you and sell kisses for one stag each. That way you’d kiss half of Riverrun before noon.”

“Ha ha, ho ho,” Jon says, shoving Theon away with a laugh. “Don’t be daft, that’s not the way to find my true love. Maybe I should go and try the smith after all, he looked nice enough.”

Theon’s smile freezes as a strange feeling pulls at his stomach. It’s one thing, making jokes about Jon kissing half the population, but a whole different thing imagining him kissing that muscled, handsome, grinning son of a – well, anyone, really. 

Jon starts to dress, oblivious to Theon’s thoughts as well as Robb’s wounded-puppy-look, and before long they’re out on the street and approaching the smithy, Jon confidently leading the way. Gendry the smith is just polishing one of the swords Jon had admired yesterday, and at their arrival he looks up, his stupid, chiseled face lighting up. 

“You’re back!” he crows, getting up and wiping his hands on a stained rag. “Did you change your mind? Want a sword after all?”

“I did,” Jon says, blushing up a storm, to Theon’s vexation. “Not about the swords, though. I mean, you said – or, you offered – and I thought–”

“Ooooh,” Gendry says, and before Theon can mentally prepare for the onslaught of jealousy, the smith has already swept Jon into his arms, leaning over him in a fashion fit for a mummer’s play and kissing him full on the mouth. Theon watches, feeling slightly nauseous, as Jon stiffens for just a tiny moment before his arms wrap around the thick neck and he melts into the ripped arms, thoroughly kissing back. When finally it’s over and Jon – swaying precariously – is back on his feet, Theon holds his breath. If the smith should be Jon’s true love… well, at least there are loads of weapons ready to use. 

“Unfortunately not,” Jon pants, one hand on his chest. “But… wow. Just… wow.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gendry winks at Jon before turning to Theon and Robb. “Anyone else? What about you, Stark? Remember how we played barber and patient all those years ago? I seem to recall you always liked–”

“Yes, thank you, Gendry,” Robb, having turned maroon-coloured, says loudly. “I guess we’ll see you at the fête later, goodbye!” And with that he stomps away. 

Theon, shaken by laughter, follows, towing a confused Jon along. The thought of that valiant knight, grandson of the local lord, letting a lowborn boy play with… it’s too precious, funny enough Theon forgets about his jealous notions for the moment. When they come into the village square, the festivities have already started. There are people everywhere, a group of musicians just starts to play their merry melodies and the ox rotates on its skewer, starting to smell appetizingly. The ales and meads are flowing and already the first couples have started to dance. 

Theon watches Jon’s face, his red cheeks, his shining eyes… today he doesn’t seem as overwhelmed as yesterday. They start slowly, the three of them, walking among the stalls. Jon is lost in all the manifold goods on display, touching fabrics, tasting cheeses and fruits offered by the merchants. A small girl on the arm of a woman selling woven baskets reaches out, and Jon laughs when she gets ahold of his hair, pulling with an endearing little whoop. As the day goes on they eat roasted ox, they drink, and when the sun starts to set Jon looks to be having the time of his life. 

He seems so happy, Theon can’t find it in his heart to protest when a handsome, blond knight bows to Jon, politely asking for a dance. Jon glances at Theon, and upon receiving a grin and a nod he takes the knight’s hand and is swept into a boisterous round dance. While Robb gets asked by a young lady with an impish smile, Theon turns down all invitations. He stays where he is, watching Jon wander from the blond knight to a dainty boy with hair almost as lovely as Jon’s, to an older man with a greying beard, to Robb’s dimpled partner. The dance soon gets wilder, the participants coming together more closely on each round, and suddenly Jon is kissed by the girl he’s currently dancing with. 

Theon takes a deep breath, watching as Jon flits from one partner to the next, freely distributing kisses among them now. It hurts to watch, but Jon seems so happy… and strangely, seeing Jon happy suddenly feels more important than anything else. Theon turns away, walking back through the streets until he reaches the smithy, where Gendry is just about to close shop. He smiles when he sees Theon, fluttering his lashes.

“Come back for a little smooch yourself? Or are you meaning to avenge your lover?” 

“Neither,” Theon says, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to ask you about those swords.”

It takes a while, selecting the right sword. One that fits Jon’s arm and height, one that looks good and will serve him well. In the end Theon decides on a sword made from Valyrian steel, with a white wolf forming the pommel. A kraken would’ve been more appropriate, but somehow the wolf fits Jon too. It’s bloody expensive, but Theon pays without batting an eye. There are so many people out and about, it won’t be a problem to get more money. He lets Gendry wrap the sword into a large cloth, intending to keep Jon’s birthday present a surprise until they’re back at the inn. 

Jon is sixteen today, meaning he’s officially of age… Theon’s heart beats faster as he slowly walks back, idly picking pockets as he weaves through the crowds. Maybe, after today, Jon will give up his search for true love. Maybe he finally sees that true love isn’t real, maybe he’ll understand that there are other, equally nice sentiments, maybe not as strong as he imagined, but present here and now… If Jon is amiable to forget about love… Theon lets his thoughts go wild, imagining how he’ll present Jon with his gift, how Jon will come into his arms, how Theon will bend down and finally kiss Jon himself… 

When he arrives back at the square Theon spies Jon immediately. He’s just leaving the dancers and joining Robb at an ale bar, accepting a drink from him. He looks heated and flustered, a wide smile on his face. Theon sneaks up on them, meaning to give them a little scare, when he suddenly hears his name and stops cold. 

“Where’s Theon?” Jon asks, gulping a huge swallow of ale. “I can’t see him anywhere.”

“Don’t know. Maybe he didn’t like to watch when you started kissing anything with a pulse.” 

Theon can’t see Robb’s face, but his voice sounds mildly reproving. 

“Why should that bother him?” Jon asks, shrugging defiantly. 

“Well, stupid,” Robb says, “I think he’d like to be the one kissing you.”

Theon’s heart beats like a drum, a shiver running down his spine. Is it that obvious??

Jon sighs, shoulders sagging. “I can’t,” he says, and Theon’s blood freezes to ice. “I can’t kiss him, I just can’t do that, Robb.”

“Whyever _not_? Is it the cousin thing? Because that’s not a problem, you know.” Robb snorts. “And don’t tell me you don’t like him, I know you do.”

“It’s not that.” Jon’s voice is quiet, sad. “I do like him, I like him very much. But… I couldn’t risk it.” Theon waits, holding his breath as Jon seems to search for words. “He’s a thief,” he finally says. “It’s horrible, stealing from people. What if he turns out to be – I couldn’t live with that.”

His blood rushing in his ears, and Theon can’t take another second of this. He plasters a wide grin on his face, determinedly marching up to them. 

“There you are,” he says as brightly as he can. “Jon, I was looking for you.” Jon smiles, and Theon quickly talks on. “You’re going to have to spend the night with Robb, alright? Found myself a wench I want to bed tonight, can’t have you loitering around and ruining the mood.” The grin turns into an ugly sneer. “Remember, you’re sixteen now. Cut out the love bullshit and fuck your knight before I’ll bring you back to your tower on the morrow.”

And with that he turns on his heel, refusing to take one more look at Jon’s face. It’s an effort to keep walking at a steady pace, to not break into a run, but finally Theon is out of their sight, sinking against a random wall, having no idea where he is. His chest is hurting; it’s strangely hard to breathe, and for a moment Theon thinks he’s having a heart attack. He concentrates, inhales, exhales, until the pain gets bearable and he straightens. Shaking his head at himself Theon takes a step, when suddenly a large hand clamps over his mouth and he’s dragged into a pitch dark close. 

“Hello, little Theon,” says the horribly familiar voice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorryyyyyyyy 🙈🙈🙈


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! I woke up too early from an awful dream where they started rationing the food like back in WWII and I couldn't get eggs at all *sigh*
> 
> Ok, here's Euron!

The position Theon finds himself in ten minutes later couldn’t exactly be called comfortable. He’s tied to a chair, hands behind his back, feet forced apart, and with the tip of Euron’s dirk threateningly positioned at Theon’s balls. 

“Now that we’re spending some quality time, nephew…” Euron grins. “Do tell me how it happened that I find you here, with _my_ Jon.” 

“Well, you know how such things happen,” Theon starts innocently. “You’re out and about, taking a lovely walk through the forest, and suddenly there’s a tower, so of course I got curious. And then I _completely accidentally_ stumbled upon a rope and found my cousin, and out of the good of my heart – ouch, stop poking me!!”

“We’ll try that again,” Euron says, tutting when Theon strains against his ties. “And this time a little more truthful, or you can kiss your precious jewels goodbye, my dear boy.”

“Alright, alright!” Theon is starting to sweat. He knows his uncle well enough to know he’ll follow through with his promise. “I overheard you talking about your treasure in the tower, with that ugly innkeep. And since I owe Roose Bolton quite a lot of money I thought, well, we’re family, what’s yours is mine…”

Euron blinks, seeming confused for a moment, but then he laughs. “Go on,” he says. 

“Well, I found out the key words – not very original, Uncle – and once inside I was ambushed by my cousin who I didn't know existed. He promised if I take him to the nearest town to find true love’s kiss, he’d give me your bloody treasure. That’s it, I swear!”

“Hmmmm…” Euron sits up, taking the dirk away, to Theon’s relief. “So it’s a kiss the boy is after? If only I’d known, I could’ve taken care of that myself.”

“Urgh,” Theon says, making a face. “He’s your _son_ , you bloody pervert! Also, it’s not any old kiss he’s looking for, it’s _true love’s kiss_.”

They both roll their eyes in unison, then Euron cackles. “Ah, my pretty little Jon… so you stumbled in and started bleating about a treasure and he promised to give it to you if you do as he says? That’s my clever boy.” Euron smiles fondly. “So, was he successful?”

“Hah, not at all. He kissed a lot of people – not me, not me! – but he’s adamant none of them were his true love. He’s pretty stubborn. Family trait, I guess,” Theon finishes with a weak smile. 

“And that’s all there was? Some kissing?” Euro leans forward, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “No other… indecencies?”

“Well, not that I know of.” Theon tries to shrug, wincing when the rope his hands are tied with cuts into his skin. “I mean, he could be fucking that knight who has been following us around right this very second. Told him to get laid before he’s back in – ow, _ow, OW!!!_ ”

Euron has reached out lightning fast, fingers closing around Theon’s privates in a painful squeeze. “He better not be doing that, or I swear I’ll feed you your own cock until you choke on it, nephew.” He lets go, flexing his fingers. 

“He’s of age now, technically he can do whatever the fuck he wants.” Theon notices he sounds too bitter, praying his uncle won’t notice.

“He better not,” Euron repeats, glowering darkly. “I’ve got plans for that pretty bum of his.”

“UNCLE!!” Theon shouts, scandalized. “Your own flesh and blood – and what if he doesn’t _want_ that?”

“He’ll want it, at least after I’m done with him.” Euron grins confidently. “Not to brag, but I’m a firecracker in the sheets.”

“Urgh, urgh, urgh…” Theon shudders, at the thought of Euron’s ‘skills’ as much as at the image of Jon – lovely, sweet, innocent Jon – being subjected to said _skills._

“Oh, stop being such a pussy.” Euron rolls his eyes. “And to relieve your concerns about incest – Jon is not my son.”

At that, Theon is rendered speechless. But… what… _what???_

“Long story.” Euron grins. “Once upon a time some dickhead of a sorcerer prophesied I’d be killed by the Wolf’s son.”

“The Wolf’s son? But that’s–”

“Shut up, I’m trying to tell you a story! Alright, Wolf’s son. Couldn’t have that happening, could I? Well,” Euron leans back, satisfied. “After I cut out that cheeky sorcerer’s tongue for saying such nasty things to me, I devised a plan to get rid of that threat immediately. And fate played into my hands beautifully. It’s unimportant how I got him, but in the end I had the babe.”

Theon’s mind is reeling. Jon is… the son of the Wolf? That means… Jon is Robb’s brother. Jon kissed _his_ _own brother_ , Drowned fucking God… And it also means that he, Theon, isn’t related to Jon at all and… fuck. There’s one thing that doesn’t make sense at all though. 

“Why not kill him?” Theon asks, frowning confusedly. “If you knew he’s the one to end your life. Why not get rid of the threat? Why go to all the trouble of raising him and risking the prophecy coming true?”

“More fun this way,” Euron says cheerily. “Would be craven to kill a harmless babe, wouldn’t it. I thought I’d see what he turns out to be, mold him to my will, fuck destiny in the arse if you want to put it that way.” Euron chuckles, then sighs. “And I have to admit, over the years I’ve grown strangely fond of the boy. He’s a sweet kid, unfortunately.”

They both sigh simultaneously, and Euron gives Theon a shrewd glance before he continues. 

“And well, those past two or three years… you’ve seen him, he’s astonishingly pretty. Thought I’d wait till he’s of age, then drop the bomb, tell him he’s not my son – not that I’d tell him who his real father is, mind – and take him for myself.” Euron shrugs. “Still planning on doing that, actually, shouldn’t your big fat mouth have cost me his maidenhood. I don’t like used things.” 

“Good god, you’ve actually gotten _worse_ over the years.” Theon shakes his head disgustedly. “So what now, Uncle? Why all this kidnapping me and telling me all this when you could’ve just snatched Jon and brought him back to his prison?”

“And have him lose his trust in me?” Euron tuts. “That’d be exceptionally stupid, my dear nephew. No, after all we discussed today… What do you think of a deal?” 

“What deal,” Theon says dubiously. “Just so you know, I won’t help you turn Jon into some kind of sex slave, you got me?”

“Oho! Have we grown fond of pretty Jon along the way, little Theon?” Euron reaches out, patting Theon’s thigh. “Then why didn’t _you_ kiss him, eh? Why didn’t _you_ take his lovely bottom last night… just the two of you, at the inn…”

It’s horrible, having to confess it. Theon remembers every word Jon has said, his heart clenching painfully at the thought. “He doesn’t want me,” he mutters dejectedly. “He doesn’t like that I’m a thief, never wanted to try kissing me.”

“Oh, my poor little Theon…” Euron chuckles, starts to laugh. “Tell you what, nephew… if you’ll help me out here I’ll let you have leftovers after I’m done with him.”

“No, thank you,” Theon says stiffly. “I won’t help you, forget it.”

“I’ll give you the treasure,” Euron says with a strange gleam in his eye. “Bring my Jon back to the tower – unmolested – and the treasure shall be yours. Plenty of gold to pay your debts to the Boltons, more than enough to live out the rest of your life like a king…”

Theon keeps quiet, his thoughts going completely nuts. It would solve all his problems, all of them. But condemning Jon to a life as Euron’s little toy… But then maybe that would make him less lonely, maybe that’s what Jon would want… He didn’t seem disgusted when talking of Euron’s strange un-fatherly behaviour. 

“You’ve got to promise me one thing,” Theon finally says. 

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll do it right. You’ll tell him you’re not his father, but then you won’t just jump into this… this thing. Give him time. Woo him, make him feel loved. Make him fall in love with _you_.” Theon smiles sadly. “He’s desperate for love. Give that to him. Ease him into it, don’t just go and… you know. Make him want it himself, make him come to you once he’s comfortable with the thought of not being your blood. Promise me, Uncle.”

Euron looks at him with a strange expression, but finally he nods. “It’ll be as you say. I promise to give Jon the epic romance he’s apparently dreaming of. I’ll make him happy. Before I’ll fuck him day and night and night and day and make him even _more_ happy, that is.” 

Grinning, Euron starts to untie Theon, clapping his shoulder. “See you at the tower, after you delivered my boy.” He hesitates, turning back. "I'll take that back, aye? It's mine after all."

And with that he picks up his bow and quiver, leaving Theon alone, desperate and guilty, and yet still hoping he did the right thing. 

***

Jon feels numb. He hardly notices how Robb steers him through the crowds, how they walk into the holdfast; he doesn’t notice any of the rooms and halls they come through. He doesn’t even care about the marvellous room they end up in, just sinks onto the pompous bed, absently noting how soft it feels. 

“If you need anything, my room is right next to yours,” Robb says. He looks worried. 

Jon blinks at him. “So,” he says slowly. “Are we going to fuck now?”

“Are we… Jon, are you alright?” Robb kneels on the carpet in front of Jon, taking his hand. “Why would you… do you even want that?”

“Not particularly, no.” Jon shrugs. “But maybe Th– maybe he’s right. Maybe I should use the last opportunity before I let myself be locked up again.” He takes a shuddery breath. “He’s out there somewhere doing it, so why shouldn’t I? I’m sixteen, I can do what I want.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’ve had it with you two morons!” Robb jumps to his feet, starting to pace up and down while throwing Jon angry glances. “Why don’t you just finally admit that it’s him you want? The _truth_ , Jon. Not the bullshit about him being a thief.”

“Shut up!” Jon shivers, the first tears falling into his lap. “You don’t get it, do you? I _like_ him, okay? I really do. I think it was there from the start and it has only grown more and more and _I’m scared!_ Like, what if I do kiss him and he turns out not to be my true love? What then? I’ve wanted that for all my life, and now I want him, and what for? To find that it isn’t as I always thought, and then I’d be disappointed and maybe let him feel it and in the end I’d lose him anyway!”

Jon sobs, trying to catch his breath. 

“And what if he really is it? After all the searching, all the kissing, what if he’s been it the whole time and I was just too stupid to see? All the time wasted, and then… what then? I kiss him, I love him – he doesn’t love me, Robb, not like I love _him_!” The tears are coming too fast to stop them. “And in the end I’ll always lose him, no matter what I do.” Jon rubs his eyes, hiccups. “I’d rather not know what I’m willing to give up.”

“Hm.” Robb sits down next to Jon on the bed. “I do think you got something wrong there, Jon. About him not… he loves you, I think. I’m sure of it. From the start he was so protective of you, so jealous of everyone who even dared talking to you… Maybe he hasn’t realized it himself, but… Theon loves you, Jon. As much, if not more, as you love him.” He wraps his arm around Jon’s shoulder, hugging him closely. “Forget about the true love stuff. That’s a fairytale, nothing more. What’s happened between you and Theon, that’s the real magic.”

“But how can he be with someone else then? How can he do something like that, touch someone else, if he really loved me?” 

“Well, stupid,” Robb says fondly. “Have you ever given him any sign of your love? Have you ever given him hope? All the little things you did could be very easily mistaken as pure friendship, you know, especially since you went about kissing everyone available but him.”

“Hm, when you put it like that…” Jon sighs, leaning into Robb’s chest. “Whatever shall I do now?”

“Now you’ll sleep.” Robb kisses Jon’s forehead. “And tomorrow you’ll go to him, you’ll make it unmistakably clear what you’re feeling. You’ll see, it’ll all turn out well.”

“Thank you, Robb,” Jon says quietly. “For all you’re doing for me. Why are you so nice?”

“You’re my princess,” Robb says teasingly. “But if I’m honest, as pretty as you are, I somehow feel for you more like for a brother by now, rather than a lover.”

“It’d be amazing to have a big brother like you.” 

Robb smiles. “A little brother, actually. Don’t tell Theon, but my sixteenth birthday happens to be in five weeks. Goodnight,” Robb says, getting up. “Tomorrow we’ll go and get you your happy end.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, guys! Two more O.O


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello on a dreary Sunday! 
> 
> Today's chapter is a little short - but the next (penultimate) one will be all the longer :) 
> 
> Warning for so much heartbreak!

Sleeping is easier said than done when you prepare to tell someone you love him, so Jon spends most of the night reflecting on how he’ll do it. Maybe he should just walk up to him and go for it… the thought makes Jon’s face heat up, warmth spreading in his chest as he imagines throwing his arms around Theon’s neck and finally learning what it’s like to kiss someone. Someone who might not be his true love, but someone Jon loves nonetheless. But then such a straightforward attack could startle Theon, making the whole situation awkward and not romantic at all. Maybe, Jon thinks, he’ll just start with some harmless small talk, work up to the big moment with hints and innuendos… 

When Robb knocks at an early hour, Jon is already dressed and waiting for him, his insides in tight knots, pulse going fast. Despite what Robb said – and he ought to know better than Jon about these things – Jon is horribly nervous. He’s barely able to swallow a few bites of the breakfast Robb has brought with him, silently following him out of the castle and into the courtyard, where three saddled horses are already waiting. The sight makes Jon strangely sad, and it takes Robb’s merry assurance how fast they’ll reach the tower this way, to make him realize why. He’d relied on the long way back, had looked forward to a few more days together with Theon before… 

Jon climbs his horse, trying to swallow down the sadness. Robb means well, and this way really is much easier and more comfortable. They clip-clop out into town and towards the inn, and Jon’s stomach somersaults when he sees Theon waiting for them in front of the building. His face is clouded, he seems uneasy, but when he looks up and sees them coming his eyes meet Jon’s and slowly, almost as if against his will, he starts to smile. Jon’s breath catches, forgotten are all qualms and what ifs, and with an inelegant thud Jon jumps off his horse and crushes right into Theon’s chest. 

Theon’s arms wrap around Jon immediately, and for a moment all Jon can do is bury his head in Theon’s chest, deeply inhaling his scent as his heartbeat slowly calms down. This feels like home, feels so right, and suddenly Jon doesn’t know what he’s been so nervous about. 

“Why hello,” Theon murmurs, tightening his embrace for a moment before he loosens his hold and pulls back, looking at Jon. “I should leave you with Ser Nightingale more often if this is the greeting I can expect upon seeing you again.”

“Theon, I–” 

Jon swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. This is it. He takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around Theon’s neck. Theon’s expression changes ever so slightly, the smile becoming insecure, but Jon ignores it, standing on his tiptoes and leaning in, eyes falling closed. He can feel Theon’s breath on his lips, shudders in anticipation, and yet nothing happens. “Theon…” Jon whispers pleadingly, “Theon, please–”

And then Jon’s eyes fly open in shock when his hands are unclasped gently, when suddenly Theon steps back and leaves Jon standing there, the cool air making him shiver. The cool air – and the look on Theon’s face. It has changed completely, his mouth a tight line, his eyes distanced and sober. 

“We ought to get going,” Theon says quietly. “We have a long way to put behind us and if we go now and keep a nice pace we’ll make it to the tower by tomorrow.”

Jon stands very still, watching Theon climb his horse with a strange, detached feeling. His chest feels as if it’s full of shards and it’s hard to breathe. A warm hand on his shoulder startles Jon out of his rigour and, feeling a hundred years old, Jon slowly mounts his own horse, limply holding onto the reins as they ride out of town. Jon stares at Theon riding ahead, unseeing, vaguely aware of Robb’s presence by his side and the worried glances he sends Jon’s way. Is this what it feels like, a broken heart? Jon had read about this too in his books, had never understood how an emotion can cause physical pain. He understands it now. 

***

By the time night falls they have reached the inn. Theon had set a fast pace all day, hardly taking any breaks, wanting nothing more than to get it over with. He feels as if his whole body is filled with lead, every limb heavy and hurting – but it’s nothing compared to the pain in his chest. His thoughts keep circling back to the morning, to that one perfect moments of having Jon in his arms, holding him close – he’d almost done it, had almost giving in to Jon’s pleading, only remembering in the last second what would happen if he broke the deal with Euron. 

Fucking typical, Theon thinks with a hint of resigned anger, for Jon to act as if he wants Theon after all just when every chance they ever might’ve had is irretrievably gone. Theon drags his arse into the tavern, paying for room and board and ignoring all of the barkeep’s curious looks and attempts at conversation. Of course he wants it. He wants Jon so badly, hold him, kiss him, never let go of him again. Theon curses loudly, throwing more coins on the counter and receiving a whole dusty bottle of whisky in return. Theon drinks, curses some more. He’s really the greatest idiot of all time… going and finally falling in love, after all the time thinking it isn’t possible, falling in love with his uncle’s most prized possessions. 

_Worth more than gold, more than jewels…_

Jon is so much more worth than gold and jewels, more worth than any treasure… Theon laughs hysterically, cursing Euron and himself and everything generally and love in particular. Fuck love. He can’t have it, can’t risk Euron’s wrath, the Boltons’ revenge. What life could he provide for Jon if by some miracle he’d agree to come with Theon? A life on the run, Boltons and uncles on their heels, a life consisting of thieving and sleeping rough… 

Theon sleeps outside, too drunk to care, unable to bear the thought of being in the same room as Jon. In the morning he feels even worse, sick and hungover and hopeless, and the sight of Jon, apathetic and radiating sadness, does nothing to ease the growing pain. Theon hurries them along, not stopping even once before they finally reach the tower. He says the words, fetches the rope, and then there’s nothing to do but say goodbye. Theon watches Robb hug Jon, whispering to him, watches Jon barely react before he turns to Theon, not looking at him. 

“So this is farewell then,” Theon mutters. “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

Jon shrugs, not saying a word. He’s as pale as a ghost, so beautiful despite everything, and suddenly Theon’s heart overflows, and with one violent jerk he pulls Jon into his arm, holding him as close as possible, pressing a thousand tiny kisses onto his hair. 

“Never forget, Jon,” he murmurs urgently. “Never forget how strong you are. Whatever your life is going to be, you’ll be strong and brave, so much braver than I am. You’ll find it, I promise. You’ll be loved, though maybe not the way you imagined. And I…” Theon groans, horrified when he feels his eyes sting and smart. “I will never forget you, Jon.”

“Goodbye,” Jon says flatly. “Thank you for everything.” 

Theon lets go, feeling as if he’s losing a part of himself as he watches Jon climb the rope, back into his prison, into a life with Euron… He promised, Theon thinks fervently, he _promised_ to be good to Jon. Theon repeats it like a mantra when the last glimpse of Jon vanishes from sight, when he climbs onto his horse, when he leads it into the direction of the sea. He needs the sea, needs it desperately now, its soothing presence the only thing that might be able to give him something like peace. 

“Wait! Theon, you – would you _fucking_ stop??”

Theon slows his horse to a walk, turning his head to look at Robb. His face is red, angry. 

“I can’t _believe_ you’re really leaving! Just like that? You’ll leave him there – just! Like! That!”

“He’ll be happier this way. Safe. Protected. All I am is a common thief, no one special. Not good enough for him, even if he liked me like th–”

“HE LOVES YOU, YOU UNBELIEVABLE MORON!!!!”

Theon pulls the reins so hard the poor horse rears, neighing in protest. He turns to Robb, horrified. 

“He _what?!”_

“He loves you. He told me two nights ago, he wanted to tell _you_ the morning we left Riverrun, but then you acted so strange and cold and he lost heart… Please, Theon.” Robb’s eyes are wide, brimming with tears. “ _Please_ don’t leave him like that, please go back and tell him you love him too. Give him just one moment of love, I beg you!”

“He loves me,” Theon mutters, thoughts going wild. “Jon loves me?”

“Yes, for the thousandth time! Will you–”

Theon doesn’t hear the rest; he’s already turned the horse around and is speeding back as fast as the animal will go. Back, back to Jon. Back to his love. 

***

Jon mechanically stows away the rope. Theon and Robb have already vanished in the thick forest, and now there’s nothing more for him to do but resume his life as if he’d never met them. Jon’s eyes are dry as he continues looking into the distance. Maybe he’s cried as much as he ever will in his life. He’ll never be able to forget, not a single moment, not a single smile, not a single touch. Jon takes a deep breath, turning to face the door. He’ll keep it inside of him, his secret, his memories of a different life. Of hope and friendship, and love. 

He opens the door and enters the only home he’s ever known. He’ll be here for the rest of his life, there’s no use in delaying the inevitable. The room is dark, smelling of dust and despair and… Jon stops, trying to adjust to the lack of light. There’s another smell, sharp and heavy and horribly familiar… 

“There you are, my boy,” Father’s voice softly comes out of the darkness, and then pain explodes in Jon’s head and the world vanishes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, AO3 changed and guest hits don't count anymore. I'm using the occasion to ask you: is anyone here who'd like an AO3 account? I have six invitations left to send out if anyone wants one. Just drop me a line in the comments or on tumblr (owlsinathens) 😁


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter, my dears! 
> 
> And once again I'm flailing and despairing at the action scenes... I hope they don't disappoint!
> 
> Mild warning... Euron talks quite explicit stuff here. Nothing really HAPPENS but that man's mouth is filthy!!!

The first thing Jon notices when he opens his eyes is that he’s been laid onto his bed. He sits up, flinching when a stab of pain shoots through his head. What… His feet are bound together, as are his wrists in front of his stomach. Jon looks around, but only when his gaze falls on his father the memory comes rushing back. Father is back… and he – did he _hit_ Jon? Over the head? And _tie him up?_

“Father, what is the meaning of this?” Jon asks, wincing when his head throbs again painfully. “Are you mad at me for leaving? I’m so sorry I worried you, Father, but I had to–”

“Oh, shut up, boy,” Father drawls, and Jon goes silent, shocked. “I’m sick of the whole charade. High time I told you the truth and take what is mine. If you still want to call me Daddy after that fine by me.” He grins, eyes sparkling. “I’m not your father, Jon.”

“But…” Jon feels as if he’s been hit by a carriage. How can this be true? “Why would you say that? Who am I, if not your son?”

“My fate,” Father – Euron? – purrs, his grin widening. “My downfall, my nemesis – my treasure.”

“I don’t understand,” Jon mutters, head swimming. Downfall? Fate? 

“I was told I’d find death at the hands of the son ot the Wolf. And so I went North and there I managed to acquire the babe with a frankly genius ploy. And I decided to challenge fate… I raised the babe as my own, made him love me, trust me…”

“I am – I was the babe?” Jon notices his voice is trembling. “I am the – the son of the Wolf? But…” 

He feels as if his whole world is collapsing around him, inside him. His whole self, everything he thought he knew – gone. A lie. A game of a… Theon had been right, Jon thinks, tears coming into his eyes at the thought of him. Theon, his arrogant, handsome cousin, isn’t his cousin after all. And he’d been right. Fa– Euron is a madman. Jon breathes in, open-mouthed and shuddery, as his chest tightens in pain. He’d do anything to be with Theon right now. But he’s long gone, miles away. Maybe, Jon thinks vaguely, maybe he can go and search for him, now that nothing holds him here anymore...

“Naw, disappointed, my boy?” Euron grins again, a wide, lewd grin, not unlike Theon’s and yet so different. “Don’t worry, I won’t throw you out. I have plans for you, big plans.”

Plans? It sounds ominous, and Jon flinches when Euron gets up from the chair he’s sitting in, slowly crossing the room. He bends, and it must be the sheer familiarity of the gesture that has Jon keep still as his hair is stroked back from his face. He doesn’t notice the intent until it’s too late. Euron’s large hand tangles in the curls at the back of Jon’s head, holding him in place as he descends on him. His mouth is hard, unyielding, more of a bite than a kiss and Jon wants to scream, wants to fight back, but he’s frozen to the spot, can’t do anything but let it happen. 

“Aaah, delicious.” 

Euron sighs when he finally moves back, keeping his hold on Jon. He licks his lips, as if he’s savouring the taste. It makes Jon’s stomach lurch. 

“I don’t want that,” he whispers hoarsely, trying to move out of Euron’s grasp. “Please let me go, Fa– Euron, please… I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“Aren’t you cute… There’s so much more to come than kissing, sweetling.” Euron rips Jon’s head back, licking over his neck. “I’ll fuck you so good, my beautiful Jon… I’ll make you scream my name before I am done with you, I’ll make you want nothing but my cock in all your holes until I’m tired of you…”

“No, never!” Jon hisses, tears of helpless anger and desperation running down his face. “I don’t want you! I only ever wanted–”

“True love, I know.” Euron tilts his head, nipping at Jon’s ear and making him shudder in disgust. “My worthless nephew told me when I met with him in Riverrun. Poor little Theon, I think he had a thing for you. And yet he agreed to help me, bring you back to me so I could truly make you mine. And all for a treasure that never existed in the first place.”

“You’re lying!” Jon nearly screams it, hitting Euron’s chest with both fists. “He wouldn’t betray me like that, he’d never agree to this!”

“Oh but he did,” Euron says, effortlessly catching Jon’s wrists in a vice-like hold. “You like him too, don’t you? All for naught, my boy, he betrayed you and brought you to me… no one’s going to come for you, my Jon, least of all my cowardly nephew.”

“Are you quite sure of that, Uncle?”

Jon’s heart takes a leap, his head turning so fast he feels dizzy. Theon is standing in the door, a sword in his hand that Jon hasn’t seen before. He looks ready to strike, ready for a fight – Jon’s gaze flits back to Euron just in time to see him roll his eyes. 

“Drowned God, nephew. You’re really picking the worst possible time to collect your treasure.” Euron gets to his feet, shaking his head in mild reproach. “Tell you what, I’ll give you your due, and then you’ll be a good boy and fuck off again, aye?”

Euron bends to a bag; something catching the light – Jon sees the metal blink, a scream ripping from his throat.

“It’s a knife! There’s no treasure, there never was – _Theon!!_ ”

Euron stops mid-move, straightens, knifeless but with such a murderous expression on his face that Jon’s breath catches. 

“Shut your mouth, you…” he snarls at Jon before facing Theon again. “Aye, you idiot, there’s no treasure. You heard me talking about the _boy_ , not gold or other riches. And my clever Jon,” he bends, roughly patting Jon’s cheek, “immediately knew.” Euron grins. “He used you, little Theon. He used you to get what he wanted.”

Something flickers over Theon’s face before he pulls it into an impressive sneer. “I didn’t come here for gold or riches, _uncle._ I came for Jon.”

Jon sobs, heart clenching tight. Theon came for him, he wants to save him, despite just having heard – it’s overwhelming, and it can only mean… Jon swallows, writhing against his bonds. Theon must want him after all. 

“And you think I’m just going to say, sure, take him away, you’re welcome to him?” Euron laughs, taking a step towards Theon. “I didn’t realize just _how_ stupid you really are.” 

It happens all so fast then – Euron launches, ripping something from the floor and Jon screams when he sees the huge axe in Euron’s hand. It clashes against Theon’s sword as he parries. Jon watches, breath stuck in his throat, as the fight commences. He flinches when Theon stumbles, when the axe cuts the air close to his leg. Jon shudders, can’t look anymore. He needs to do something, not just sit here like some sort of swooning imbecile! Jon leans over the edge of the bed. The frame is made from wood, the upper edges soft from year-long use – but beneath they are still rough and sharp. 

Uncomfortably hanging off the mattress, Jon starts to rub the rope his wrists are bound with against the edge. It’s slow, hard work, sweat beading on his brow. He starts to feel dizzy, the sound of metal against metal, their groans and huffs in his ears, but finally the rope tears and Jon’s hands are free. Immediately he starts fumbling with the one binding his feet, but the knot is too tight. Jon remembers the knife Euron had in the bag at the foot of the bed. Awkwardly he crawls over, reaching into the bag – it’s empty. There is no knife. Horrified, Jon looks up – just in time to see Euron’s axe fly from his hand, and Theon’s sword at his throat. 

“Now, now, nephew,” Euron drawls lazily, his voice confident. “You wouldn’t kill your own uncle, surely?”

“Give me one reason not to,” Theon hisses. His hand holding the sword is shaking, but his face is more grim than Jon has ever seen. “Would do the world a favour to rid it of you.”

Euron dead… Jon shivers, an ice-cold feeling taking ahold of his heart. He should want it. What Euron did to him… what he _intends_ to do to him… despicable, monstrous. And yet… This is the man who raised Jon. Who had clothed him, fed him, held him when he had nightmares as a kid, who brushed his hair and told him stories. The thought of seeing him killed is wrong, strangely so, and Jon calls out before he has made up his mind. 

“Don’t, Theon.”

Theon’s eyes flit to Jon, widening in bewilderment. “Jon, what – haven’t you realized yet what he is? How can you still–”

“I know what he is.” Jon crawls to the edge of the bed, getting his feet on the floor. “I’ll come with you, Theon, I’ll leave this place and him forever, but please… please don’t become a murderer on his account.”

“You are insane,” Theon says, but the sword slips away from Euron’s throat, just a few inches. 

“That’s my boy,” Euron says, smile widening, turning into a chuckle. “I thank you, my Jon, for your lovely advocacy.”

He moves so fast, the knife hidden in his sleeve and suddenly Theon screams, stumbles back, the sword clattering to the floor. He looks down on the red spot blooming on his tunic, getting bigger and bigger with every moment. Theon looks at Jon, his mouth opening as he slowly slumps against the wall and down to the floor.

_NO!!!_

Jon doesn’t make a sound, the shock paralysing him, but then Euron laughs, raises his hand with the bloody knife and Jon cries out in sheer horror. 

“PLEASE, NO!” He hiccups, swallows hastily, just one thought in his mind: Theon must live. “Euron, please, I’ll do everything, I’ll do anything you want from me, I’ll be yours forever if you let him live!”

“Jon, don’t…” Theon mutters, but Jon’s gaze is fixed on Euron. 

He looks back, eyes gleaming, a horrible smile spreading on his face. He looks insane, making Jon shiver in fear, but he stands his ground, not looking away. 

“You’d do that?” Euron asks, his hand with the knife sinking. He takes a step closer, another, until he’s towering over Jon. “You’ll be my good little pet, let me fuck you however I please if I just let the worthless thief live?”

“I swear it,” Jon says, and lifts himself to his feet to meet Euron’s mouth descending on him. 

It’s painful, sharp teeth digging into Jon’s lip, Euron’s tongue choking him, sending chills of disgust down Jon’s spine. He ignores them, ignores Theon’s voice in his ears as he kisses back as good as he can, using every trick he’d learned on his journey, pressing himself against Euron. At long last it is over, and Euron moves back. 

“Aaaah,” he sighs. “That was–” 

He breaks off with a choked gasp, and Jon reels back in shock when he sees the blade sticking out of Euron’s chest. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Robb says grimly, pulling his sword back. 

Euron turns around, his knees giving in; he falls against Jon heavily. He coughs, blood foaming at his mouth. 

“Not… possible… only… the Wolf’s… blood...” 

“I am Robb Stark, and I _am_ the blood of the Wolf!”

Euron’s eyes widen in horror, he grasps at the air, at Jon. Jon closes his eyes – and steps aside. Euron falls, the light vanishing from his eyes before he hits the floor. 

“Are you okay, Jon?” Robb asks worriedly, quickly kneeling to cut through the rope binding Jon’s feet. 

Jon doesn’t answer, flying over to where Theon is slumped against the wall. Jon crashes to the floor, doesn’t know what to do. Theon is so pale, one hand pressed against his side. It’s smeared with blood. 

“Jon…” Theon blinks, something like a smile coming onto his face as he sees Jon hovering over him. “The treasure–”

“I’m so sorry,” Jon whispers, tears obscuring his view as he helplessly strokes Theon’s face, his hair. “I meant to tell you the truth but–”

“Shshsh…” Theon lifts his hand, grimacing in pain. He cradles Jon’s cheek. “You’re the treasure. Always… always were. For me.”

His hand falls from Jon’s face as his eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm...sorry? XD Just remember, this IS a fairytale... the happy ending is just around the corner! 
> 
> Happy Easter/Pesach/Sunday to all of you!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, my dears!

“Theon…”

Jon wants to shake him, but he’s too afraid to worsen his wound so he doesn’t, hands helplessly fluttering over Theon’s chest, his neck, his face. He’s not moving, as white as a sheet, and Jon bites his lip in desperation. 

“Theon, please,” he begs, stroking Theon’s hair with trembling fingers. “Please say something!”

“Jon.” A warm hand touches Jon’s shoulder as Robb crouches down beside him. “Jon, stop. This isn’t leading anywhere… he’s gone.”

“ _No,”_ Jon yells, jerking out of Robb’s grasp. How can he even _say_ such a terrible thing? “He’ll be okay, I know he will, he has to – I love him, he can’t be–” 

Jon is shaken by dry sobs; he bends forward and presses his lips to Theon’s forehead, his cheeks. His skin is cold, but Jon doesn’t care. Theon can’t leave him, not like this, not before – Jon takes a deep breath, cradling Theon’s head. 

“I love you,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he finally places a kiss to Theon’s lips. 

It’s like lightning driving into Jon’s body. Sparks are exploding in his mind, a surge of heat streaming through him. Jon breaks away with a gasp. His heart is drumming in his chest like a trapped bird, his head is swimming – Jon sways, not knowing what is happening to him. And then, _then,_ Theon moves, a muscle in his face twitching – Jon holds his breath as Theon’s eyes open. 

“Jon..?”

***

There’s nothing… and then there’s Jon. Jon’s face, slowly coming into focus, more beautiful than ever despite the puffy eyes and the lack of colour in his cheeks. Theon stays very still, the absence of pain confusing him. He frowns, reaching for the spot where Euron’s knife had been driven into his flesh – his fingers touch a slightly elevated ridge, not an open wound. Jon gasps and Theon’s gaze flits back to him. He’s staring, open-mouthed. 

“What the actual fuck,” Theon mutters, and then he oomphs as Jon throws himself on top of him. 

Theon’s arms wrap around Jon immediately, holding him close. He tries to sit up as good as he can, what with Jon clinging to him like a vine. He’s blubbering something Theon can’t understand, but it isn’t important, nothing is but the fact that they’re both here, somehow, miraculously. Theon looks over Jon’s cloud of hair, and the first thing he sees makes him roll his eyes. Robb the Young Wolf is standing beside Euron’s lifeless body, hands pressed against his heart – bawling his eyes out. Theon raises an eyebrow. 

“This is like a fairytale,” Robb sniffs. “True love’s kiss brought you back!”

“True love’s – what now?” 

“True love’s kiss,” Robb repeats after noisily blowing his nose. “You were dead, Jon kissed you, now you’re not dead anymore.”

The thought of having been dead is irritating, but not what irks Theon the most. Jon _kissed_ him? While he was… out? “Did you kiss me?” he asks Jon, still burying his face into Theon’s neck.

“Mdfpf,” Jon makes before he resurfaces with a worried frown. “I did… are you mad at me?”

“Drowned God,” Theon huffs. “I’m mad that I missed it, is all. You don’t think you could–”

The rest of the sentence is lost as Jon leaps forward, flush against Theon’s chest. Theon’s eyes fall shut when their lips meet, a strange fluttering in his chest turning to a storm raging through him. There hasn’t ever been anything like it, never in his whole life. True love’s kiss… and why the fuck not, Theon thinks as he opens his lips and devours Jon’s mouth. Time becomes meaningless, nothing matters anymore but Jon in his arms, and Jon’s delicious taste, his soft skin under Theon’s hands...

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m still here!”

They surge apart, both breathless, and with a start Theon notices Jon is in his lap and he’s got both hands under his tunic. He peers over at Robb, red-faced and intensely staring at a spot somewhere in the far corner. 

“Sorry,” Jon gasps, clambering off Theon and to his feet. “I didn’t… sorry. Thank you, Robb. Without you…”

“It was nothing,” Robb says modestly, but he does grin when accepting Jon’s hug. “I’m just glad I wasn’t too late.”

“What do we do with this?” Theon asks, having gotten to his feet too and nudging Euron with his boot. “Can’t leave him lying around. He’ll start to stink.” 

“We’ll bury him at the foot of the tower,” Jon says, coming over and winding himself under Theon’s arm. “And then I want to leave this place and never return.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Robb remarks. He sits down in a chair. “But before we go off to new adventures, I’ve a question. Does one of you know what he meant with the blood of the Wolf babbling?”

“Oh,” Theon says, “that.” He takes a seat as well, on the bed, dragging Jon down with him. “That’s a rather crazy story…”

Robb listens, eyes getting bigger and bigger as Theon recounts what Euron has told him. Finally he shakes his head, laughing confusedly. 

“But that… oh my gods. So, Euron thought Jon is my older brother? What a fool.” Jon makes a confused noise, and Robb grins. “Oh, that’s another crazy story. You see, there was this war back when I was still in my mother’s belly. Everyone thought the prince had kidnapped my aunt Lyanna, and my father and his best friend who was in love with her waged war against the king and the prince to get her back. Turns out it wasn’t kidnapping but an elopement! True love.” 

“But what–” Theon starts. 

“Shut up, let me tell you!” Robb leans back. “Where was I? Oh yes, true love. Well, my aunt was hidden away in a tower – ironic, if you think about it – and when my father finally found her she was just giving birth to a baby boy. Sadly, she didn’t survive.”

“A baby boy…” 

“My cousin,” Robb says, looking at Jon with a bright smile. “The king was killed and the prince was beaten in battle. But his corpse has never been found and there are rumours he fled after hearing his love was dead. Anyway, my father’s friend became king and Father brought his sister’s babe home with him. He was afraid the new king would kill it because it was the blood of the prince, so he told everyone it was his bastard son.” 

Jon shivers, and Theon tightens his hold on him. This is indeed a crazy story. And it means… 

“But then, when Father was away on business, an illness befell the babe and he died. My mother was devastated, especially after Father finally told her the truth. I remember seeing her praying for the little soul in her sept so often…”

Theon tries to sort out his thoughts. “So Jon is…”

“My cousin,” Robb nods. “My aunt Lyanna’s son – and the true heir to the kingdom. But I wouldn’t say that out loud or the king will send his assassins!”

“I’m – really?” Jon gets up slowly, making a step towards Robb. “I have a family? An uncle, cousins – you are my cousin?” 

Theon watches Robb catch Jon in a bear hug, a strange lump in his throat. Jon has someone he belongs to. He can go with Robb, meet his uncle… It’s better than anything Theon could provide, but the thought of Jon leaving…

“You’ll come with me, right?” Theon looks up at Jon, standing right in front of him, a pleading gaze on his face. “I want to go and meet them,” Jon says, holding out his hands. “But only if you come with me.”

Theon takes Jon’s hands, his heart leaping in his chest. “If you can live with being associated with a common thief..?”

“Please do shut up,” Jon says, and then he flings himself into Theon’s arms yet again, kissing him breathless. “I don’t want to be without you ever again,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Do you now,” Theon mutters. “Good thing I’ve loved you for quite a while then, eh?” Another kiss, soft and slow. “Alright then, the North it is. The Wolf’s den might be as good a place as any to hide from the Boltons.”

“I am _still_ here,” Robb grouses, rolling his eyes when Jon moves aside, red-faced. “I wouldn’t worry about the Boltons, Theon. We just tell my father you were the one who rescued Jon and I bet he’ll be more than happy to pay off your debts.”

“Fine by me,” Theon grins. “Now let’s get this bugger into the ground, aye?” 

They bury Euron at the foot of the tower, and despite everything Jon does shed a few tears when they are done. Theon squeezes his shoulders consolingly. He hasn’t let go of Jon for longer than necessary, kissing his hair, his cheeks, his mouth every so often. It’s fantastic to finally be able to do this. 

“Do you want to go and get your things before we leave for the North?” he asks when Jon wipes his eyes with a last sigh. 

Jon nods, opening his mouth to reply something when suddenly a loud screeching sound has them all look up. A raven drops from the sky as if someone has shot it – going straight for Robb. Theon and Jon watch it fly around Robb’s head, squawking insistently while pecking at his hair, pulling at curls while Robb furiously jumps about and waves his arms, trying to swat it away. 

“What the – shoo, you – will you – stop it, you stupid bird or I’ll cook you for dinner!”

“What’s that on its leg?” Jon asks. 

Theon looks. Really, there’s a scroll tied to one of the raven’s legs. He sneaks up, fishing the bird out of the air in the middle of another attack on Robb’s hair. It caws indignantly, but when Theon holds it out to Jon so he can get the scroll off, the bird miraculously stays still. When Jon has the scroll, Theon sets the bird to the ground. It gives him a nasty look – before hopping over to Robb, where it starts to peck at his boots. Jon unrolls the scroll, reading the first few words before he looks up. 

“It’s a message for you,” he tells Robb. 

“Could you – fucking – read it to me?” Robb huffs, futilely trying to kick the raven away. “Please?”

“Dear Robb the Young Wolf,” Jon reads. “I have been promised by a witch that you, my knight in shining armour, would rescue me from the tower my mother locked me up in, and steal me away, my true love for evermore.” Jon glances up, biting his lip as if to suppress a smile. “And well, I have been waiting for you to show your sorry bum for a fucking long time now, and if you don’t ride for my tower RIGHT THE MOMENT YOU READ THIS MESSAGE, I’ll slay the guards myself and FUCK YOU!!” 

“Gaah,” Robb says, staring at Jon. 

“Well…” Jon grins and reads on. “Lots of love, xoxo, Princess Jeyne. Sounds like you _did_ have the wrong tower, cousin!”

“Told you so,” Theon can’t help saying smugly. “You better get going, buddy, she doesn’t sound like someone you want to cross.”

“Aye,” Robb says, his face resembling a sunburnt tomato. “I better… well… want to wait for me here so we can go north together?”

“We’ll wait,” Theon says after receiving a confirming nod from Jon. “Now off you go, chop chop!”

They watch Robb climb his horse in utmost haste; he barely waves at them as he speeds away into the sunset. Finally Theon turns to Jon, kissing his nose. 

“Any idea what you want to do until he gets back? Play a few games of Fox and Geese maybe? And I have a gift for you that I haven’t got round to giving you–”

“Shut up,” Jon says, firmly gripping Theon’s shirt, “and let me keep my promise to you.” 

“Promise?” Theon mutters, confused but turned on when Jon starts nibbling at his ear. 

“When you bring me back I shall give you the treasure,” Jon says, eyes sparkling. 

“Oh,” Theon makes, starting to grin as his hands move to grab Jon’s bottom. “So now that you got your true love’s kiss you’re already after true love’s fu–”

Jon kisses him, drags him down into the soft grass. Theon comes willingly. There’ll be so much more to come, people to meet, Boltons to placate… someday Jon may want to search for his true father, address the whole true heir to the throne business, but until then…

Until then they live happily ever after, Theon thinks as he takes Jon into his arms

  
  


~ The End ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been a lot of fun to write, and I loved sharing it with you. Thank you so much for the support, the kudos and comments and everything. 
> 
> I'm a little sad it's over, and if anyone has an idea for another fairytale you want to see as Greysnow, please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments or over on tumblr (I also am always game for chatting :))

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hungry for comments like Theon is for gold (and Jon) here... :D


End file.
